Fly on a Windshield
There's something solid forming in the air,
And the wall of death is lowered in Times Square.
No-one seems to care,
They carry on as if nothing was there.
The wind is blowing harder now,
Blowing dust into my eyes.
The dust settles on my skin,
Making a crust I cannot move in
And I'm hovering like a fly, waiting for the windshield on the freeway.
Echoes of The Broadway Everglades
With their mythical madonnas still walking in their shades:
Lenny Bruce delcares a truce and plays his other hand
Marshall McLuhan, casual viewin', head buried in the sand.
Sirens on the rooftops wailing, but there's no ships sailing.
Groucho, with his movies trailing, stands alone with his punchline failing.
Ku Klux Klan serve hot soul foood and the band plays "in The Mood"
The cheerleader waves her cyanide wand,
There's a smell of peach blossom and bitter almond.
Caryl Chessman sniff the air, and leads the parade
He knows, in a scent, you can bottle what you made!
There's Howard Hughes in blue suede shoes
Smiling at the Majorette, smoking Winston cigarettes
And as the song and dance begins, the children play at home
with needles...Needles and pins
Ezt meg azért, mert szép:
Még több zene -- Carpet Crawlers
There is lambswool under my naked feet.
The wool is soft and warm,
- gives off some kind of heat.
A salamander scurries into flame to be destroyed.
Imaginary creatures are trapped in birth on celluloid.
The fleas cling to the golden fleece,
Hoping they'll find peace.
Each thought and gesture are caught in celluloid.
There's no hiding in my memory.
There's no room to avoid.
The crawlers cover the floor in the red ochre corridor.
For my second sight of people, they've more lifeblood than before.
They're moving in time to a heavy wooden door,
Where the needles eye is winking, closing in on the poor.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
Weve got to get in to get out
Weve got to get in to get out
Weve got to get in to get out.
There's only one direction in the faces that I see;
It's upward to the ceiling, where the chambers said to be.
Like the forest fight for sunlight, that takes root in every tree.
They are pulled up by the magnet, believing they're free.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out.
Mild mannered supermen are held in kryptonite,
And the wise and foolish virgins giggle with their bodies glowing
Bright.
Through a door a harvest feast is lit by candlelight;
It's the bottom of a staircase that spirals out of sight.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out.
The porcelain manikin with shattered skin fears attack.
The eager pack lift up their pitchers - they carry all they lack.
The liquid has congealed, which has seeped out through the crack,
And the tickler takes his stickleback.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out.
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