How High
(John Frusciante)
We magic through your thought
Shine, you're made of pine
You slip through the streams of the city
We sleep your mind
How high, how high?
That's right
How high, how high?
Leave your body
You lay the past in a field
When you're outside time
We stand in a plane
This ground is right
How high, how high?
That's right
How high, how high?
Leave your body
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