John Frusciante How High
We met you through your fortune
You're made of high
We slipped through the streams of the city
We slip your mind
How high, how high?
Past life
How high, how high?
Leave your body
You leave the past in a field
When your odds are timed
When you stand in a plane
This ground does rise
How high, how high?
Past life
How high, how high?
Leave your body