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
BROADWAY MELODY OF 1974
Echoes of The Broadway Everglades
With their mythical madonnas still walking in their shades:
Lenny Bruce declares a truce and plays his other hand
Marshall McLuhan, casual viewing, 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 food 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 sniffs 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