Traffic takes me back to the days when there were less vehicles
and people stayed indoors more, relied on natural timing to put
in an appearance when it was absolutely necessary, and then get
done by a mammoth on a routine hunting expedition,
Your fifteen minutes of fame cut short by a sudden juddering
feeling, straight through and out…
nobody stopped to watch. Those there dug a hole
offered your meat to strange gods, ate what little was left,
grew the wings of giant birds in slight lit caves
and opened small businesses
after having found the ocean brave with dead men's dreams
and a land unconquered beyond the reach of any King
we grew soft and lazy, fat and slowly
towering achievement on top of achievement, paving cities
of gold out of circles of power, of pain and punishment
wrapping men in leopard skin, tagging them cold, humourless
marking them fit for war, placing them in the line of fire
then measuring it from point of impact to grave.
Those of them as were not wounded we tried to save all
our failures reflect a willingness to learn to keep
on mass producing these weapons of self destruction.
Somewhere along the line even the Manson family could
give us a Jesus Christ. Lost halfway between Bliss and
Oblivion in a used ford the options are endless
down a narrow road desert skirts the dirt lane, Reality is
a concurring nightmare, the devil's accident without Re Call.
Ive been Dreaming in cactus, walking for miles without a soul