Josh Tillman and the Accidental Dose

She put on Astral Weeks Said, "I love Jazz," and winked at me This is the last place I oughta be But I can't drive, and I sure can't sleep Around this time, I publicly Was treating acid with anxiety I was unwell, and suddenly Her clown portraits spoke to me You're in no shape You're in no shape All the kings horses, all the kings men You may never be whole again A publicist and a celibate started talking politics And by small degrees, she got 'em to admit They're tacit fascists Without knowing it And, oh, this went On and on Performance art? An elaborate con? Baby, who wears pearls at 4 AM? This Pynchon yuppie found Meaning's end In no shape In no shape All the kings horses, all the kings men You may never be whole again You may never be whole again You may never be whole again I saw something I shouldn't see The awful truth, bare reality That I'd forfeit my existence If someone let me just play with them Dawn long broke by the time I realized I'd lost my mind I ate an ice cream Dazed in the street But it'd never taste quite as sweet Again