There's something solid forming in the air
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 our mythical Madonna's 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 ship 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”
A 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 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