Clash

Stony, stony crack in the wall
You know your headed, headed for a fall
Man runnin'
No end in sight
The boss screams
“Take off tonight”

Makes his way through the cloudy streets
Would sell his brand new Cadillac just to have a seat
Says he needs to get out of the heat
Starts to dream
Dreams of the smooth sounds
The smooth sounds of Miles Davis
The petty piano peeps of Carlos Jobim
The screeching samba saxophone of Stan Getz

He starts to dream
Starts to see
100 miles away
1000 miles away
Sees a palm tree
Swaying in the wind
Softly
Picking up speed
Leaves pulsating to the rhythm of the music

The phone rings
Life is on line one
She says “Honey pick up the dry cleaning”
He grows frustrated
Wonders why his one suit isn't good enough
He starts to undo his tie
He was told this is a Golden Age
Who is that man sleeping on the corner?
He sees a politician
So the dinosaurs still live among us

He thinks of her
Wonders how many miles to Ipanema
He still sees her eyes everywhere
And in her eyes he saw the world

The saxophones light up
The sound bursts into his ears
A freshly fizzed drink
The tie comes off
His muscles tense
The car picks up speed
His eyes are glassy with a tinge of indifference toward the endless sea
A nude woman exerting pure lust…Buy these jeans!
A man with an orgasmic expression surrounded by three girls…Cheap hot tubs!
We're all destined to swim in that tub alone one day

He sees an ad for the Fox News Corporation
If a killer's words were not broadcast
He would not kill

A visage of focused intent arranges itself
His eyes are open
But his mind is 1000 miles away
Fixed on a sea of the organic variety
The blue-eyed behemoth stirs his mind
Teasing
It wants him to seek it out
It wants to suck him in

The fiery demon begins his descent
The blue waves in his mind have already extinguished the blaze
He sees nothing but the past
A past so long ago
He feels it is not his own
Is he stealing it from someone else?
That's the American way

His life is a movie
He can see the director
The sea laughs at him
Mocks him
Tells him “I am the tub”

He approaches his little niche he has carved out on the planet
The car slows
The gloss fades as the high tide goes out
He tries to glimpse her one more time
A great waterfall is in his way



Snap!
Crackle!
Pop!
His mind shuts off
The autopilot kicks in
Dry cleaning?
Dry cleaning!

The car turns around
He is going back the way he came
He's repeating the pattern
But with each repetition comes the chance for change

The demon has returned to his lair
The heavens are grey
They match his mind
A white goddess rises now
He pays her no mind
He needs to get the dry cleaning

There is fear in the goddess
She knows the flames will rise again
The man feels in control
He sees the goddess and knows something that she knows not
Without her, there is no demon
And without the demon, she herself could not exist

He feels in command
The sea has left him
It said “don't you worry, it's my love, the pleasure's mine”
Regret has been whisked aside
Like an eagle leaving the nest
He's flying on the wings of maybe
But he's got so far to go

Trying to catch up with his memories
He doesn't realize he's running the wrong way
So as the bug creeps along its path
An unwelcome intruder joins the struggle in the sky







Flight 752
Continental Airlines
Its passengers gave one hundred and seventy two pieces of green paper in exchange for the right to sit on a flying bus
The UFO looks small to the man
He wonders what the people on board see when they look at him
The director wonders what the people on board the plane see when they look up
The sea is approaching again

The raging demon plots alone as the goddess has her time in the sun
He wonders if perhaps she is wearing a mask

The man tries to think of the her face
He gets anxious
Checks his phone
Checks it twice
His leg twitches
Something is rising
A serpent snaking its way, writhing its way into his mind
It creeps into his conscience
Suddenly he's overcome with a feeling of malicious self doubt
The anger comes next
An overflowing cauldron of boiling and bubbling tomato soup
Her face is there
The sea prepares for its final battle
Up above, the goddess cheers him on
She's pulling the sea back
The blue stains her dress
He raises his icy sword
It clears a path to her
He runs to her
Runs from his fears
Runs from his life
Runs from the future
Runs from the towering redwoods of society that shed leaves upon his soul
He pauses
Looks back
He knows the redwoods will topple soon

Her eyes pierce his very soul
Like a Sphinx bearing down upon the eyes of a housecat
This lioness could not be tamed
Not by him nor the by demon nor by the sea
Nor by the very goddess in who's image she had been created in
No tub could hold her

With a last defiant attempt
He speaks to her
Asks if he could just take her on a journey
Through the smoke rings of his mind
To the foggy ruins of time
High above the snow capped mountains of reason
To a cliff where the sea wages its eternal battle
Fighting against the very barriers of time itself
Pushing the limits of all thought
Until with one last exhale it rescinds
Only to try again the next day

She speaks
The same samba voice and raspy curling tone
Sorry babe, I'm taken by the sky

He turns away
Slowly it comes back to him
He needs to get the dry cleaning


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Thanks alot