Self-contained environments, where shut-ins live their worthless lives
Here you did awake, meant to gaze upon their sloth
They remane unaware as you pass and watch the pathetic routine to which they all adhere
This is the gallery of Stupid-High
Marijuana museum, exhibits of death
Behold this gallery of Stupid-High
Tremble comprehending the visions of this artist
What he has created is a drooling brain dead horde
This vast corridor displays hundreds of retards watching TV screens
All quite similar, but no two are the same
Like nihilistic paintings by a single artist, both brilliant and insane
The subjects set in living rooms, no desire to escape
Imprisoned by their own freewill, demented sculptures are their state
Unknowing, under lock and key, no escape for them is left
Couches, bongs and buds are this gallery's decor
The smell from the gallery, the stink of human waste and pot
You face the sordid nature of stoners on display
See the addicts through the looking glass, they think of nothing for their brains are mush
Witness brutal exploitation of potheads in decay
A strong comment here is specific: the phrase you keep hearing, the mood you come back for, or the reason this song stays in rotation.
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