Psychedelic Relic
words and music by Roy Zimmerman
© 2004
(From "Homeland")

If you mellowed out and got your head together
Then somehow you misplaced it
If you meant to put an end to hate and war and poverty and prejudice and people who dress in too tight leather
But you spaced it
If your friends are grateful you're not dead
And you're the only one on your ward who remembers what the dormouse said
If you're all tie-dyed and startin' to slide I'd have to say

You're a psychedelic relic
A wilted flower child that the F.B.I. has filed away
Psychedelic relic like me

If you stop to wonder who you really are
And it takes you a minute
If you can't remember where you parked your car
And you're in it
If you tune in, turn on and your teeth drop out
If I say "yellow matter custard, semolina pilchard, sitting on a corn flake, crabalaka fish" and you can tell what the hell I'm talking about
Eight miles high you wonder why you have to pee all the time

You're a psychedelic relic
Lost in a purple haze I can see it in your paisley eyes
A psychedelic relic like me

And if you take a step outside your mind
And you get locked out and left behind
Stuck in a mental Mississippi
If you have yourself a real bad trip
And if you get busted in your hip
And now you're an artificial hippie
If you prefer hallucination to the nation as it is

You're a psychedelic relic
You're a psychedelic relic (quite rightly)
You're a psychedelic relic

If you waistline is expanding faster than your consciousness
You're a psychedelic relic
If your turn-signals go left, right and flashback
You're a psychedelic relic
If you wear your ear hair in ponytails
You're a psychedelic relic
If you still believe in peace and love
You're a psychedelic relic like me