Come shake me if I'm dreaming,
did I just see Misfit Rose,
tripping through the beamings
rightly wrapped in tattered clothes,...
in lead of passive shadows,
with the proof behind blue shades,
...still spitting out bad apples
and his long hair done in braids?

Please shake me if I'm dreaming,
did I just see Misfit Rose,
strung out on the streamings
and in debt to all his woes,...
in search of nothing other
than old doves that fell from flight,
...still flipping off the heavens
while in travel with his spite?