Timothy Leary`s dead.
No, no no no, he`s outside, looking in.
He`ll fly his astral plane,
Take you trips around the bay,
Brings you back the same day, Timothy Leary.
Along the coast you`ll hear them boast,
About a light they say that shines so clear.
So raise your glass we`ll drink a toast,
To the little man who sells you thrills along the pier.
He`ll take you up, he`ll bring you down,
He`ll plant your feet back firmly on the ground.
He flies so high, he swoops so low,
He knows exactly which way he`s gonna go.
Timothy Leary.
