Back at university, in Horwood Halls,

we used to decorate the ceiling, floor and walls -

we used to smoke weed to chill n’ mellow out,

staring at the decor just to trip us out.

I added UV lights and a black light strip

n’ everyone would come over my place to trip.

Bringing different weed and stronger hash;

we’d all chip in to get a bigger stash.

 

But as you’d mix and match the hashish and skunk,

with liquor, to get stoned, high and drunk,

the feeling you’d end up needing just got harder to find

so inevitably you’d search for a deeper kind.

Something not addictive with little prison time;

something pretty trippy that isn’t too much of a crime.

 

Heroin, crack, meth or coke;

taking any of that shit is a fucking joke!

Fortunately, for a tripper I’m a sensible bloke

but I still wanted something spinny which I didn’t have to toke.

 

I met a fella who’s a seller of a product called Ket.

He said he’d got it to shot it from a woman at the vet.

For twenty pound a gram, I could reach new levels

Like the animals they tranq with it subdued in their kennels.

And within an hour of the line with the lights and the UV

I would have no idea that I was even still at Uni.

Eyes open or closed, it made no difference;

no perspective, no emotion, no perception of distance.

 

At unfathomable speeds, I would whistle through space

with psychedelic music moving me all over the place.

Vibes of seduction with a passive twist,

romantically deluded by the keta-shpongle mist,

crowded with images and incoherent shapes,

floating across deserts and impressive landscapes.

Everything was nothing, yet nothing was much more

all this from a gram which only cost a score!

 

A passionate prison of indestructible euphoria

lost in ancient realms like the city of Pretoria.

And the more I took the deeper I could go

until it all ran out and the trip would slow

and I’d be left feeling sleep deprived, satisfied, yet lost

but I’d have achieved my goal at a minimum cost

which meant I could go back to normal, with a little weed and drink,

my thirst for exploration satisfied...

or so you’d think...

 

 

So there you have it, it just carried on from there

my desire to trip got me everywhere, yet nowhere,

with glassy eyes, I’d just sit there and stare,

distant and euphoric without a single care.

Non-responsive and catatonic brought on by the force

of the substance I was sniffing designed to knock out a horse.

 

But ketamine meant not caring,

which in turn meant ignorance

and any attempt to inform me

was met with incoherence.

 

The escapism was paramount to enjoying the trip;

any physical interruption could make me flip.

One time I was vacant and my friend sat on my head -

I fucking lost the plot and beat the shit outta my bed.

So I’d lock myself away in the day and the night

and for days I’d disappear out of anyone’s sight.

I’d put my headphones on and drift in and out

only emerging to piss, eat or sort more out.

 

My dealer literally earned my student loan -

I didn’t even have money for shaving foam.

I grew a little beard during junkie limbo:

that’s when you’re fucked but you’ve still got drugs, though.

See, the good thing about ket is it’s not addictive:

when you have it you want it but when you don’t you’re passive.

But it’s different if you know it’s available to you

because then that shit is all you want to do.

If you’ve got none and don’t know if there’s any about

you can forget it and carry on like before - without.

 

But the second you’re called and you know you can get it

it’s just a matter of hours before you’re completely ket’d

and it’s inevitable that you’re gonna regret it.

Your tolerance has increased and now your body expects it

and now a whole line costs you twenty pounds

and to fit it in your nose means you make funny sounds.

Hocking and phlegming to clear out your sinuses

in public, when once it was one of those shynesses.

You used to have decorum; you used to care.

Now you’re hocking and sniffing everywhere.

 

With the trippy effects long gone, you still do it

up your nose, on your gums, fuck it, you’ll chew it.

Because it’s harder than booze and more effective than weed

and you’re convinced that to socialise it’s something you need.

There’s no room left in your nose and it’s started to bleed

and your gums are worn down and have begun to recede

yet, you believe it’s controllable and you don’t need the drugs -

it’s just the feeling of having nothing else to do which bugs.

But the only reason you’ve got nothing better to do

is because you’ve spent all your time lost deep within you;

being antisocial and exploring your articulate mind,

you’ve come round, woke up and looked around to find,

that you’ve got no friends no life and no girlfriend either

you’ve been abusing a substance more knock-out than ether!

And all you’ve got to show for that period of time

is a note pad of deviant poetry and rhyme.

 

So you pack up your shooter, grinder and drug kit

and vow to yourself that you’ll never re-touch the shit

ever again, if it’s the last thing you do,

your relationship with ket’s over - weed too.

You go to the gym, get a job and all the rest

Get a date, see your parents and pump up your chest.

Your heart rate increases and metabolism in tandem

you go out, develop a persona doing stuff that’s random

and two weeks’ll go by where you’re exceeding your potential

then the man phones with his dreaded ketamine credential.

 

He says he’s got chronic spangle at a very low cost

and in that moment all your improvements are lost.

You’ve not even sat down to take a line of it yet

but your inhibitions are vanishing and your hearts already set.

He knows you’ll come running because you always do

‘cos admit it or not, it’s got a hold upon you.