Baby's busy hiding in the bassinet
|
wonderin' if the third world war started yet
|
I told her I was pulling up and heading west
|
she said she would have come but she was overdressed
|
so I sent a picture postcard of a midwest bank
|
she wrote me that she showed it to her new friend Frank
|
who noticed in a window on the 19th floor
|
a guy my age about to prove that man can't soar
|
and he would also like to know
|
if I could just check around before I left this town
|
for slow-mo footage of the tumble down so
|
This may not be my best day
|
but this ain't no golden age
|
You looked pretty on the freeway
|
let's drive into the brave new world.
|
|
A van pulls up and someone offers me a ride
|
the driver lost the map and he was terrified
|
everybody whispering to save his pride say
|
"son would you be kind enough to be our guide?"
|
The driver yells "the one in back already tried,
|
but his memory is rusty and his vision tied."
|
glasses and a lubricant were by his side but
|
the tin man was inanimate, the lion lied
|
They did not want to see me go
|
but I did not want to be another muskateer
|
plus the gas runs out before the van's in gear
|
Please don't hit me if I do say
|
but this ain't no golden age
|
You looked so pretty on the freeway
|
let's drive into the brave new world...
|
|
Buster and his company look good in black
|
they're looking for a way out of the cul-de-sac
|
tearing through the phone book and the almanac
|
they all have dusty noses 'cause they sniff shellac
|
they finally found the number of a matador
|
who rode up in a Beemer with a pricey whore
|
but Buster wasn't quick enough
|
he'd lock the door
|
and rode off sayin' he'd be back before the war
|
by then the night was falling slow
|
and I did not want to stick around and just look old
|
when I saw you pulling onto my soft shoulder
|
|
This may not be my best day
|
but this ain't no golden age
|
You looked pretty on the freeway
|
let's drive into the brave new world.
|
|
-----------------
|
Brave New World
|
Michael Penn |