Sandal
Shuffle Dawn on Daybreak Avenue
Old
man, weathered,
leathered
and gray,
Shuffles
down the Avenue,
nary
a thing to do,
For
what's done
has
been and gone,
Sandal
Shuffle Dawn walks on forever,
All
alone!
Daybreak
Avenue, awash,
the
posh strolling,
and
leading their daily rituals,
waiting
for death,
vying
to breathe,
Sandal
Shuffle Dawn stands all forlorn,
His
last reprieve.
Sun
up and days end, morbid,
The
rigid stupidity
of
the restless walk of the living,
heads
bowed down,
the
gauntlet thrown,
Sandal
Shuffle Dawn catches the sting,
never
knowing!
Lo, there's Daybreak Avenue,
revue
of the lifeblood,
caked
in the remorseless hopelessness,
of
many blinded,
And
dumbfounded, it seems,
by
the mystical passing of Sandal Shuffle Dawn,
in
their dreams.
Can
you see that figure?
Caricature
of self,
Strolling
in your many blessed skins,
That
drear feeling,
of
life failing,
Can
you see the poor men who seek the light?
humans
ailing!
If you can,
Thank
you,
after
all,
ain't
Sandal Shuffle Dawn
each
of us in waiting?
The
Brakeman on the Brain Train
Life,
like the steel of the tracks
is
unbending only
when
you're looking back
'cause
you can't see the future as
straight
as you'd like
can't
catch a vision
on
your imagined plight.
I
am the Brakeman on the Brain Train today
the
signals are switched
pointing
the direction my way.
Passed
the corners, round everyone's fate,
The
driver he sees it
is
it him I hate,
or
can the desire to forget what has gone
disrupt
my scopes
cremate
our hopes
and
send me reeling as ashes to ashes.
I
am the Brakeman on the Brain Train my friends
the
line is continuum,
Life
never ends.
Baying
for blood, the hounds they are howling,
the
diners perverse
and
the waiters be growling
and
the chefs chop the fox up into demeaning pieces
as
the viewers look sideways
and
dream of their new days
at
the prospect of finding a future ahead.
But
I am the Brakeman on the Brain Train you scum,
though
I only see what's gone
I
don't pick up crumbs.
The
dreamers and innocent sleep off their fear,
and
the Sandman is creeping
as
the Reaper is reaping,
And
the children and the elderly think of the night,
behind
eyelids tight shut
as
the Reaper he cuts,
their
prospects of continuum to a millennium rent short.
Why
I the Brakeman on the Brain Train do cry,
for
the ones ahead,
who've
been, yet to die.
And
the weight of the baggage, the conscience of possession,
the
bigger the case,
the
larger the obsession
and
the miseries contained in the bags of the poor
are
reeking their sadness,
the
insanity of madness,
and
the delusions of grandeur are packed for the ride.
See
me, the Brakeman of the Brain Train look back,
at
the scattered pieces
Of
everyone's sack.
But
the signaler is silent and the train it roars on,
and
the towns pass by
hear
the children cry
why
the millions are gassed by the fear of the Maniac,
is
the direction tainted
and
the signalers' words painted
as
graffiti on rail-bridges right across the land,
nay,
if I wasn't the Brakeman on the Brain Train no more,
would
you hear my call
and
the Wolf at your door.
Catch
the sound of the lonely as our whistle blows ghostly,
hear
the sadness of the past
as
it pounds along fast
feel
the wind of change as the future blows in
raise
your head to the sky
see
the heavens roll by
and
ask of the One who steers this great train
If
me the Brakeman on the Brain Train is keeping
a
modest bequest
for
the dreamers still sleeping.
Ask
the driver if he sees the two lines ahead
converging
to one
lying
dark in the sun
or
shining out boldly for all to behold
is
the future so clear?
are
we getting there?
or
are we just holding on for dear life today?
Because
I am the Brakeman on the Brain Train you see,
my
face is always,
out
looking behind me!
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