BRASS BUDDHAS
                                               
                                              Flowers open and close. Buses strike
                                              pedestrians. The moon grows hair on bald
                                              heads. Chambers filled with brass buddhas.
                                              What does it take to get high, when
                                              it's all down hill. Fill the chambers with
                                              brass buddhas. Chambers filled with brass
                                              buddhas.
                                              The last frontier is the lost frontier.
                                              Chambers filled with brass buddhas. The joke
                                              rides a fine line. The candle flame has no
                                              shadow, I find.
                                              Fill the chambers with brass buddhas.
                                              Fill the chambers with brass buddhas. Fill
                                              the chambers with brass buddhas.