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 her mythical madonnas
still walking in their shades:
Lenny Bruce, declares 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 ship sailing.
Groucho, with his movies trailing,
stands alone with his punchline failing.

Klu 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 almonde.
Caryl Chessman sniffs the air
and leads the parade,
he knows
in a scent,
you can bottle all you made.
There's Howard Hughes in blue suede shoes,
smiling at the majorettes smoking Winston Cigarettes.

And as the song and dance begins,
the children play at home
with needles;
needles and pins.