Josh Tillman and the Accidental Dose-Father John Misty

She put on Astral Weeks Said, "I love Jazz", and winked at me This is the last place I oughta be But I can't drive, and I sure can't sleep Around this time, I publicly Was treating acid with anxiety I was unwell, and suddenly Her clown portraits spoke to me You're in no shape You're in no shape All the king’s horses, all the king’s men You may never be whole again A publicist and a celibate started talking politics By a small degree, she got him to admit They're tacit fascists Without knowing it And oh this went on and on Performance art? Elaborate con? Baby, who wears pearls at four AM? This Pynchon yuppie found meaning’s end In no shape (Mm) In no shape All the king's horses, all the king's men You may never be whole again You may never be whole again You may never be whole again I saw something I shouldn't see The awful truth, babe, reality That I'd forfeit my existence If someone let me just play with them Dawn long broke by the time I realized that I lost my mind I ate an ice cream Dazed in the street But it never tastes quite as sweet Again