Strung out on Jimi Hendrix,
it's my theatre of thought.
Dolly Dagger, save this day,
and all we've set at naught.

Strung out on Jimi Hendrix,
it's my fix of mother sound.
Night bird fly into my sky,
Come wing me one more round.

Abstract structures set to flow,
through shackled waves of time.
I'm the buzz inside the red,
retracing lost sublime.

Shade-drawn eyes where waters flow,
and music shatters glass.
We're still in key...the gig is free,
no better place to crash.

Underlining statements fall,
retracing crystal streams.
Ways of echoed voices call;
lend worth to soiled dreams.

Strung out on Jimi Hendrix,
vinal soul my Summer gun.
Here I grieve in 60's speed,
your psychedelic son.