CAN - Tago Mago

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   Here is what James Lee wrote in his review:
"Have I said anything about the album? Well, words are almost inadequate. A more meaningful way to write about "Tago Mago" would be in free-form poetry comprised of a few different languages as well as numerous nonsense words, illustrated with impressionist doodles on the margins, and repeated ad infinitum for effect. "

Here is what I came up with.  Each one corresponds with a different song.  I've only done the first three so far.  This is utter improvisation and has been changed only by computer limitations (I originally wrote it out by hand):

The banana peel in a state of denial
Is no worse I thought to myself
Than the drumming of a deranged
            H
            E
            A
            R
            T of a king’s daughter
Wooed by the prince of a foreign land
Where

                        bills are the lining of birdcages
                                                for more no more than a size thirteen foot.
And at the news I cracked open a bottle of bourbon
On the head of a now dead frog
And the French had frog legs for lack of a better word
                                                “ah, the times we live in are fit for fools and drunkards”
                                    Remarked the man of the mountain, buried beneath a mattress of
   snow
and his fossil may be turned up
            in a few million years and
  he will be hailed as a hero in
a new age of the Octopus that has
come out of the sea to be king

But too late it was time for the man to go
            go
            go
            go
            go
            go

                        was not this sad man’s life nor his death
                                    which never did end at all.
And so it was in the land of the caveman of the 21^st century
            Hiding away with his cellphone and hunting for no sort of purpose of
                                                                                    Any kind except his own pleasure
The blackness closed upon his life and all was good for so it was 
decreed by the holy televangelist on the tv screen that draws him in
   and kills his eyes
But he could not tapdance like a dog.

                        In her castle                                                                  By his majesty
A lonely lady                                                                offered to her
                                                Ate the food
THE QUEEN
Twice removed from the holy order of the sacred church of Atlantis
  Rising again to dominate the grammarless multitudes and the mindless gnomes

Who eat the people they claim to serve (the b*****ds)

funny how it is that the smartest among us are the ones to fail
            when the failures themselves have no income for the brains they need to
                        fail
he does not claw at the beast for he lost his feet in the war
            and his hands are his only                                  hope for eternal salvation
                        should the war come                               again to improve his way of
                                    LifE

                                It is all he has        and he must worship it like the plague it is
Such is the plight of the eternal depths of thought.