In the secret of his dreams
sitting in the darkness he is looking
out through the window
sounds and laughs resounding
in his memory
like a trembling on the other side
of the window

waiting for the ending
he sings the song
telling the story of a man who
know life's thorny like a rose
waiting for the ending he sings
the song

this is the story of a man
who knows there's nobody else
around

guiding bird has disappeared
joining hands, he closes his eyes
and put his head on the pillow
something wrong has changed
his faith in misery
his life is like a movie waiting for a scenario

life...is...thorny like a rose pray...waiting...for an answer faith....

I'm plugged into a sound from a thousand years agoAnd I'm taking notes between the tokes. Yeah.
I'm plugged in but I'm turned off
I'm holding the phone but it's inside out.
And the tambourine was burned in a Tangine
While the chorus sang...
Inch' Allah...

I'm plugged into the wind and the birds
The wind on the trees and the wind on the sand
I can't see it, but I can feel it, with my hand.
I'm plugged into the blue
been wearing the same choes for a season or two
while the poets slip papers under my door.
I'm plugged into my head-
I'm plugged into my bed
Feel the graffiti moving through my mind.

Fumes and mappings that have survived the overtime.
My sound is plugged into the ground and the wires were dipped in gold.
If you can't hear this you so far away
but one of the poets spoke to me to say
I'm plugged into the mainline - she kicked it over to me sideways
I'm plugged into my mouse
slips me into the E-search
Motor Base - Motor Base - Motor Base.

I'm plugged into the credit card
burned lots of bits of paper and incense
record in realtime at twenty cents a dime.
Fill in the zeros with ticks and crosses.
When I cross the street
I don't know...the bosses.
...the bosses.
I'm plugged into Stock Markets
watch the fluctuations drawing lines in my mind.

Tsunamis replace the Tornados
Icebergs make bookends on the shelf.
Inch' Allah... Inch' Allah!!!

I'm plugged into the dub frequencies
That flow out of large black boxes on the floor.
The rythms come out of the carpet with the contact mikes - and it's ready for the Elephant's roar.

I'm plugged into the fragments
glimmering in the middle of the night
That of my Sister Ray broken up
use a broom use a spoon.
I'm plugged into the agitation
I take taxi's and don't have a car
Four dirham a ride
and I've got the Drâaoui by my side.
I'm plugged into the dreamy rhythm
Like a rip-appart heart-attack
I'm plugged into the Super Stoned
Rhythms and Narko's crack.

Inch' Allah !

I'm plugged into the Quinine
Touareg feedback that energizes the scorpion.
I fly to the No Flow with the automatic GO-GO
See the river walk, with the flow.

I'm plugged into the nicotine
the stains across my chest
I'm plugged into the bra
Inside the woman's breast.
I'm plugged into the Warhol
cause he isn't really dead.
I'm plugged into the signs
of the Temple in my head.
I'm plugged in and I'm programmed
programmed to explode
There are no loose ends
That will never be explored.
I need a month in the desert with four bottles of water.
Be a Nomad in the nomadilisation.
Nomadilisation - Nomadilisation.

Inch' Allah !!!