High In My Room

What sort of madness is this here that I think?
How life is bad blended with bleak, my heart weeps,
With the pitter-patter pattern of raindrops, slow,
Falling half as slow as my stroll, upon the knoll -
In the distance is a house that the mist conceals,
The rain kills my pain to reveal my place of zeal,
And pretty soon these looming premonitions of doom,
Will be omitted when I'm high in my room,
And Through the gloom,

I see a garden of sleepy, nude half-dead trees,
A sullen bright spot spot on this eve, their scattered leaves
Skip and scrape against the cold, wet, asphalt floor,
They're blindly searching for a place to explore,
Sweet cigar smoke rolls of my tongue as I puff-puff
On the Mild,
Eve-dreaming of elusive smiles from women wild,
Imagine we're stranded on an island of dunes,
Instead of being stuck and high in my room,

So is it bad?
This little bag?

The stigma from the powers that be,
Have labeled little plant ENEMY,
I've seen how alcohol and certain prescription drugs,
Destroy communities that I love - makes people thugs
When they drink and flash violently, drunk in a rage,
Police'll lock 'em up in a cage - in this age,
I'd rather break the law and harm nobody soon,
Just chillin' here high in my room, high in my room!