The first whiffs get you a ticket out of Kansas City,
Two drags past the first ash
Comes the yellow brick road.
The doors of perception open, waves pour in,
And everything appears,
Infinite, as it should.
Space loses all meaning, time extends to nothingness,
Light comes in waves around the bend
Colours changing hue.
In pouring surges, it rides down the back,
Sounds can be seen,
Purple turning blue.