Zebco 33
Disguise your weight/
howbeit, nevermind/
but your presence never wait/
please left the bind.
You're a little good nightmare/
dressed in nothing or bare/
pistons are your sacrifice/
my pilgrimage to the wise.
My privilege is been in your pills/
am jaded and you're filled/
you're so rare like a zebco 33/
you're my defrayable trip.
My blues comeback to your asylum/
ailing by drugs and situations/the
despair is so aching/
but my fingers explain our destination.
Featherweight feeling/
tied in the ceilling/
we're dead, we've a precarious life/
our end cuted by an knife...
oliver kayo sete