Lights on the bridges and a smokestack far away
Smoke turns to indigo in the ending business day
The taxicabs´ assault on the potholed asphalt
They parry and lunge ´neath the thin winter sun who´s
Painting the bedroom grey

Computer Mage, the plastic age
Someday all this will be a road
"Where will it take us?"
"It´s got seventeen lanes."
"Where will it run?"
"It´s an interstate parkway."
"Where will it go?"
"It´s a boot print of progress."
"Where will it take us?"
"It´s gonna be a road, be a road."

"Domesticated primates," the Leary Convict sez
Sewn up together in paper foil like a pack of Pez, of course,
School was a fine bunch of rehashed lines, there was
Nothing really said, I could have stayed home in bed and watched
Reruns of Desi Arnaz

"Time is just a concept," sez Einstein´s kid, the dunce.
"People´s way of keeping everything from happening at once
Overtake the light, and time is in your sight
And black holes bend the beams so nothing´s where it seems and
Finding out the truth could take you months."