Highway Song
I run from the stresses, your pretty dresses,
Parents fighting, siblings biting,
The horrific atrocity of long term projects projected,
The violence of politics inspecting inspected,
The churches fighting with resurrecting resurrected,
The superstars fill their bras injecting injected,
Never ceasing to not be undetected.
I run!
I run out into the rain, for my worries and my pain
I run out onto my deck and into my hot tub to sit and complain of my worries and my pain.
From the hot tub with Eminem pushing the bases I look to the highway, I squint to see the car's faces.
Slowly sinking I start thinking what gave this to me? Luck? Advantage? My Attention? Your pension?
A man drives on faster to get home in his truck, to the kids that he'll hug, the wife he will
Find in his heart to ask for forgiveness.
He drives off into the distance, missing the Mrs., kisses, Sunday naps, hating these maps, driving, and striving,
No thought crosses his mind of escapism, from his worries and his pain, to go out on the deck and complain.
I keep on sinking, soothed in hard earned relaxation, I look to the highway, harden my concentration.
Kids in a backseat, yell, "Dad, daddy could you turn up the heat."
But the heat is killing him now.
Ignoring his family whilst on vacation, away from the mistresses, poker nights, and jobs, away from the neighbors' kids, stoplights and mobs.
This is he wishing that he had a deck to go out on and to hide,
Hide from his family, just to sit watching the US 52 tide.
I listen, but reject his pathetic cry for attention; I look to the highway, eyes wide, with fixated intention.
Sometimes, as I sit watching, I wish I could come down from up so far, just to sit in his truck or their car,
I see this with affecting affection, knowing not the problems interjecting interjected, just seeing the cars rolling by with peaceful rumble.
What do these cars know of hunger in New York, Crooked representation in San Francisco, Missing children in Utah, Snipers in Washington, 13 year old prostitute slaves traded from Mexico to under Uncle Sam’s and Aunt Liberty’s noses. What do the cars, what do they know of those?
I get out of the hot tub in to the house up to my room; I look to the highway, cars softly pacing into their tomb.
(Bryan hits the guitar like a drum when he is done, but doesn’t stop playing just stops solo)
BOOM!
I can still see the highway, from up in my room,
Something different is itching now at my brain, I no longer complain of my worries and pain,
What about the some of you, those of you who always complain?
Listen:
I'll tell you how to end the oppression, how you can stop the depression,
O-ppression, D-ppression, I'm gonna O.D. on your impression.
End the war in Iraq, support Chirac, save the trees, stop the hole in the sky, don't use hair-spray, don't kill babies before their first birthday, listen to yourself.
What's going to save the Americans, driving at 1 AM, what constitutional resolutional amendment can stop THIS cruel and unusual punishment of your fellow Americans.
I allow myself to complain once; I look to the highway, and think about the real people this protest hunts
It’s one thing to rant and rave about people who protect stranger's rights to live in a cave,
But to tell me I need to diversify, shout and spout this at me, as if I, had not noticed it clear as if it were advertised.
---Diversity is the worst thing to recently happen to civil rights. Diversity’s glory long deluded by the systematic machinery that some call thought. Diversity once the utopia of understanding and free thought not the now penitentiary of opposites and have-nots.
Diversity is now Division, catalyzing the worldly collision, which are our relationships. This schism sounds like prisons, when all this thought process only fought progress. Doctor MLK would never use fancy terminology to talk about his brother. My brother, He is like me, all TOGETHER under an almighty God, we TOGETHER gather this family. SHE is my sister, HE is my brother, and of all us here we are only each other.
But yet we find useful labels, to create GPA and wage tables, to better help ourselves understand DIVISION…I mean diversity.
Chicana, Black, Fat, Poor, White, Orthodox, Asian, Muslim, Buddhist, German I don't care if you are Israelite, Mennonite, Afraid of night.
All I SEE is the human beings through this foggy glass, I LOOK To THE HIGHWAY, THE CARS STILL Drifting By, As TIME Begins To Pass.
Parents fighting, siblings biting,
The horrific atrocity of long term projects projected,
The violence of politics inspecting inspected,
The churches fighting with resurrecting resurrected,
The superstars fill their bras injecting injected,
Never ceasing to not be undetected.
I run!
I run out into the rain, for my worries and my pain
I run out onto my deck and into my hot tub to sit and complain of my worries and my pain.
From the hot tub with Eminem pushing the bases I look to the highway, I squint to see the car's faces.
Slowly sinking I start thinking what gave this to me? Luck? Advantage? My Attention? Your pension?
A man drives on faster to get home in his truck, to the kids that he'll hug, the wife he will
Find in his heart to ask for forgiveness.
He drives off into the distance, missing the Mrs., kisses, Sunday naps, hating these maps, driving, and striving,
No thought crosses his mind of escapism, from his worries and his pain, to go out on the deck and complain.
I keep on sinking, soothed in hard earned relaxation, I look to the highway, harden my concentration.
Kids in a backseat, yell, "Dad, daddy could you turn up the heat."
But the heat is killing him now.
Ignoring his family whilst on vacation, away from the mistresses, poker nights, and jobs, away from the neighbors' kids, stoplights and mobs.
This is he wishing that he had a deck to go out on and to hide,
Hide from his family, just to sit watching the US 52 tide.
I listen, but reject his pathetic cry for attention; I look to the highway, eyes wide, with fixated intention.
Sometimes, as I sit watching, I wish I could come down from up so far, just to sit in his truck or their car,
I see this with affecting affection, knowing not the problems interjecting interjected, just seeing the cars rolling by with peaceful rumble.
What do these cars know of hunger in New York, Crooked representation in San Francisco, Missing children in Utah, Snipers in Washington, 13 year old prostitute slaves traded from Mexico to under Uncle Sam’s and Aunt Liberty’s noses. What do the cars, what do they know of those?
I get out of the hot tub in to the house up to my room; I look to the highway, cars softly pacing into their tomb.
(Bryan hits the guitar like a drum when he is done, but doesn’t stop playing just stops solo)
BOOM!
I can still see the highway, from up in my room,
Something different is itching now at my brain, I no longer complain of my worries and pain,
What about the some of you, those of you who always complain?
Listen:
I'll tell you how to end the oppression, how you can stop the depression,
O-ppression, D-ppression, I'm gonna O.D. on your impression.
End the war in Iraq, support Chirac, save the trees, stop the hole in the sky, don't use hair-spray, don't kill babies before their first birthday, listen to yourself.
What's going to save the Americans, driving at 1 AM, what constitutional resolutional amendment can stop THIS cruel and unusual punishment of your fellow Americans.
I allow myself to complain once; I look to the highway, and think about the real people this protest hunts
It’s one thing to rant and rave about people who protect stranger's rights to live in a cave,
But to tell me I need to diversify, shout and spout this at me, as if I, had not noticed it clear as if it were advertised.
---Diversity is the worst thing to recently happen to civil rights. Diversity’s glory long deluded by the systematic machinery that some call thought. Diversity once the utopia of understanding and free thought not the now penitentiary of opposites and have-nots.
Diversity is now Division, catalyzing the worldly collision, which are our relationships. This schism sounds like prisons, when all this thought process only fought progress. Doctor MLK would never use fancy terminology to talk about his brother. My brother, He is like me, all TOGETHER under an almighty God, we TOGETHER gather this family. SHE is my sister, HE is my brother, and of all us here we are only each other.
But yet we find useful labels, to create GPA and wage tables, to better help ourselves understand DIVISION…I mean diversity.
Chicana, Black, Fat, Poor, White, Orthodox, Asian, Muslim, Buddhist, German I don't care if you are Israelite, Mennonite, Afraid of night.
All I SEE is the human beings through this foggy glass, I LOOK To THE HIGHWAY, THE CARS STILL Drifting By, As TIME Begins To Pass.
posted by Gary Crane at 5:18 PM
2 comments
