Floydean

My reference is to some kids with tails,
One of whom asked that he be cremated,
So friends could smoke his ash.
Tomato reds too, red, bleed pale.
Sin in a cup, in rolled up plants.
Just how scared are you
that you'll wake up tomorrow?
A yellow's a yellow,
Add white or brown.

I like silence with the TV on,
Of old God and unequal blood.
Prostrating fools have mute songs in their heads.
Love of a mad country can drive you to heat
The bad sane act with falling ratings
Will break anyday. I've got to escape
Where barrels of maggots can stay by your bed.
Wake up each day and count moving heads.
Breathe in the divinity of fresh angel rot.
Kill your last men so you'll wail true
And walk in the land of syphylitic daze.
Babes-in-arms know not, the mother's regret.
Fed thick white hatred of nip.
Roll over roll over roll over.
Wake up so you can sleep.