These yellow little pills
Of which thick-lipped Mick was singing
Can urge respiration to stall.
Pills make you snooze.

They won't dilate your eye,
Which will be shuttered, not blinking.
You'll saw logs; logy brainwaves crawl.
Pills make you snooze.

You won't hear music: you're slumberin', dozin', not smellin'
Swell eats: bacon, bread. Dope is foggin' you.

When you've gulped 'em all down,
To receptors are then clinging
Molecules so potent yet small. . .
Stilled beyond "snooze."

In "Helper" music, Mick warned, watch the dosin', he's yellin'.
In peace, place where dead go, 'neath lawn, land you.

There are stones all around
But not the type that are singing.
Besides, you near nothing at all.
Still now are you.

Pills you abused.