Traffic Lyrics

Michael McGuire Traffic

TRAFFIC
© Electric Babylon Music Author: M.M.


Strapped in the pulpit got my foot on the trigger, it drains the speed
from the street as the engines get bigger, pulled up to the busy stop
light in my ego machine, blocked a guy in at the parking lot cause I
felt mean, but it made me feel guilty all day long, it’s just traffic
etiquette it wasn’t all that wrong, I’m rushing to get somewhere that I
don’t wana go, and the slogan before me says just say no.
Caught in the pursuit of some shifting destination, radio waves babble
the code of some lost tongues communication, I turn it up but it’s all
just blues in code, I wonder if god’s good ear can hear it and thinks it’s
some kind of curious ode, I stop and look and make a wrong turn on
red, I’m a little out of pace with the traffic in my head, the horn only
knows one thing your in my way, move or I’ll run over you have a nice
day.
I move on never hear an end to the engine’s woe, street sign wisdom
tells me all I really need to know, the hissing of the serpent vehicle of
means, I am motive and driven across the façade of shapeless scenes,
fueled by the I will get there first ethics of Cain, and of the blood that’s
spilled the pavement will soak up the stain, rush hour ad infinitum
time is a traffic jam, tires and thoughts and glimpses of the half priced
wholesale scam.
Sirens sing down alleys and bind this odyssey to its fate, doesn’t matter
if we never get there as long as were not late, wrapped in the freshest
roadkill a hypothesis is curled, down serpentine sidestreets that slither
off the end of the world, my conscience a traffic cop my appetite
illegally parked, I’m on the side of town where the lanes are not clearly
marked, and I don’t remember how I got this far down the road,
slipping thur the maze in a daze humming blues in code.
Now the vultures are circling ‘cause the traffic is stopped, and upon the
windshield of my faith the answer to a prayer is dropped, I feel the
mystic engine the traffic and I are one, and now another petty miracle
is forgotten another useless job is done, and I’m back in the prophecy
of the machine I recalibrate the faults,
I head toward some fantasy of home traveling tires and thoughts,
someone else tied to the circuit offers to let me out just a headlight
not a face, I wave ‘cause I thought they were being nice but they just
wanted my place.

AUG.97