Bad Religion. Against The Grain. Blenderhead. Zeneszám

flying through a dark prismatic tunnel on a carousel,
the earth is turning and you know it very well,
your mind is reeling like ten helicopters
wheeling and you're gonna hit the ceiling
like a mallet on a bell,
hey, blenderhead,
they're starting to ask questions,
your transgressions are a danger flashing sign,
challenge conventions and radiate your splendor
and feel those flywheels churn on your blenderhead
tally up the gleaming ventured in a wishing well,
each shining trinket has a story it can tell,
your moments pining like those tales all
intertwining can become the rusted lining of a deep neglected shell,
hey, blenderhead,
you ask so many questions,
your confusion's a life-affirming sign,
break from tradition and carry on with valor
and feel those flywheels churn your blenderhead.