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
