
I’ve read Jimi Hendrix was great at playing Risk,
the board game where you try to take over the world,
high on acid.
Makes sense –
first, he was the army –
they were taking orders from the guys in charge,
plotting to make other people’s countries all their own –
plus they gave soldiers drugs with their guns.
Then he was a hippie –
drugs went with flower power
like biscuits go with tea.
I had this cool picture of tripping –
I’d float high over this soul-sucking chair,
go right out of this tired mind, find peace,
make love not war.
Maybe I was wrong –
maybe I’d take all the built-up bad vibes out
on the nearest country, instead.
Maybe that’s what Jimi did –
maybe that’s what all the suits at the top do, too.
Some say acid lets you into places you’d normally never see.
I’ve got a bad feeling we’re living in some big boss’s
idea of a happy high.
Tell me how to come down softly,
before we tear each other apart over nothing,
heads full of dreams not worth dying for.
