I was really high listening to some John Frusciante a few weeks ago and I wrote this. Looking at it now I have no idea what I was saying. I was hoping an external point of view might be able to tell me if my inner consciousness was saying something, or if I was just writing random sentences. If I can figure out what was going on, I might be able to finish writing it in a stable state of mind.

"Let the pretend grown winder.
For it is beyond the vines
that the truth is interspersed.

I'm so dizzy
From spinning so much
trying to catch my name
so many names

the endless infinite falls
trying so hard to
keep off the grass
but it's futile"
It seems to me that its about feeling lost in the world. You have trouble seeing the truth because there's so much fake. You're confused about yourself and who you're supposed to be. And maybe you're conflicted about your future, maybe you want to do one thing but feel like you're already fated to do another. Pretty cool lyrics.
Well I think it's pretty good, the first stanza is possibly about dissatisfaction of dreams/ imagination, and also dissatisfaction with nature (vines?). Second stanza could mean the narrator is confused, confused by language maybe? The final stanza could be dissatisfaction with authority, and ultimately knowing the narrator's future actions will upset those in authority because they primarily have little faith in his/her's abilities and also they judge the narrator by the actions of those who preceded the narrator and didn't turn out to be different or remarkable, ignoring the fact that the narrator could be different or remarkable.

Pretty interesting stuff, although it's really skeleton-like, as in it doesn't have much substance, tangibility or presence, but still it hooked me. So if you figure out what you want to say, definitely beef it up a bit, I can foresee it being pretty interesting.

Partway through writing my analysis I realized how much you could tell about a person from the way they analyze a piece of literature and I tried not to put theories that applied to me and not the piece. If that makes any sense, if it makes none I can clarify

I can definitely relate to writing some scrap of words (mostly late at night for me) then completely forgetting what I was writing about that night and the piece doesn't make any sense whatsoever. Which is ok because in my case, most of the time all that stuff is crap anyway rock on brotha.