Albatross of the World

In the heights of Karakorum,
sits a panjandrum, high cock-a-lorum.
Sits in lotus, not a sports car,
imparting wisdom to a rock star.
Wisdom sounds like mumbo-jumbo,
stirring syllables into gumbo.
Says a word that sounds like Zabadak,
making duck sounds, is he just a quack?
Is he floating over the parapet?
Has the acid started working yet?
Peter now is quite enlightened,
shame that later he'll be frightened.
In a bedsit, south of Wapping,
still more acid Pete is dropping.
Never lonely, hearing voices,
a schizo always doubles his choices,
and if he cannot bear his guitar,
he hears the echoes of a sitar.
Maybe he will make a comeback,
find a tune and make a demo-track.
One thing Pete will never know,
whatever happened to his mojo.