my planets are in gatorade

must be why im not feeling so sane

sugar-coated dreams that pressure my vein

my planets are in marmalade

jarred and hidden in a cabinet

waiting to expire, since i'll forget

my planets are in lemonade

distributed by a child for quarters

as she waits by the streets borders

my planets are in rubber-maid

a collection of moms just trying to have fun

while their daughters sell drinks in the sun

my planets are a smoke-grenade

blinding my sights to sneak up

ten-fold to empty my cup

"how much for a glass of lemonade?"