Oh! It's a plastic passion.

Smoke surrounds your perfect face and I'm falling, pushing a broom out into a space; and this where I find a way. The stadium arcadium, a mirror to the moon. Well, I'm forming and I'm warming; state of the art, until the clouds come crashing. Stranger things have happened, both before and after noon; Well, I'm forming and I'm warming, pushin' myself and no, I don't mind asking now. Alone inside my forest room and it's storming, I never thought I'd be in bloom; but this is where I start. Derelict days and the stereo plays for the all night crowd, that it cannot phase and I'm calling. Tedious weeds that the media breeds, but the animal gets what the animal needs, and I'm sorry.