WIGGED OUT

I'm wigged out, man.
Maybe it's the age on me.
Everything disturbs me.
I can't read the newspaper anymore.
It's too depressing.
I'm a masochist I guess...
'cause I read it anyway.
I'm wigged out by taxes,
building permits,
most dictums by government,
and all of the senseless prattle on tv.
Why don't they just crucify me?
Nail my gnarly, old ass to a tree.
Get it over with.
I'm sick of inanity and insanity.
I doubt my own mental faculties.
Maybe I'M the problem.
Naw, I'm just wigged out.
I always worked toward goals.
I achieved most of them.
Now the powers that be...
are trying to take things away from me.
This wigs me out, 'cause the wags are out.

I guess I'll look at the trees.
Their green leaves relax me.
The sun still shines.
The "man in the moon" is still there.
His face hasn't changed.
These are constants that I like.
After we all wig out...
and destroy ourselves...
Mother Earth will be damaged.
But, she will begin healing.
'Cause we won't be around,
to wig her out.

New life forms will emerge.
The oceans will begin to mend.
The forests will begin to replenish themselves.
We won't be missed.
So don't wig out.
Just co-exist.
Maybe, we can reverse the cataclysmic process...
The evil deeds that men do to themselves,
and sweet Mother Earth.
Maybe it isn't too late,
for me and you.
Don't wig out.
Just do the next, right thing.