The Music Man

by Steven Gray

I don’t know, is it so wrong,
my life is going for a song.
I fell for music, that ain’t all,
and now I have to take the fall.

The music it can undermine
a man, and over-run the mind,
the quickest drug I ever found,
the slowest too. The bass is sound

asleep, the lead guitar is vicious,
I’m soaking up the repetitious
static with a superstitious
attitude and the delicious
sound effects, they connect
to women who are made of sex.

However I will not go there,
if women get into your hair
it helps if you are turning up
the volume. It is burning up
an ordinary education,
suddenly you’re on vacation,
paid for by a radio station,
a neurologic dislocation.
Brainwashed by a wave of sound,
no longer with my feet on the ground,
and hours later I am found
alone and washed up. What’s that sound,
I say as I am led away,
a choir of angels on the way.

They’re coming to my sonic rescue,
careful now, don’t miss your cue,
they’re saying what’s the matter with you,
the music man, it’s my milieu.
A wall of sound, a wall of the damned,
there are those who are condemned
to music and they have the blues.
They’re walking in some softer shoes,
they’re writhing on an instrument,
a far cry from the government.
A mind is a terrible thing to set
to music, though you won’t forget it,
and your nervous system sings,
who knows what tomorrow brings.

Another song of our distortion,
put it all into proportion
with a chord, a kind of rhythm,
and the notes, I’m going with ‘em.
I don’t know what I’m doing here,
the future pulls you by the ear.
With hearing you can lose your sight,
it’s an endless Saturday night,
you sound the depths of that immersion,
chords are coming with coercion,
hardcore echoes of a sinner.
Sound unlocks the linear,
it leaves you in a state of shock
and you can rock around the clock.

Development is soon arrested,
is this how all of us are tested,
in a warp for many years,
you wouldn’t know it when your peers
are mutants of the sociologic
and they’re not too logical.
The music can be stopping time,
it has a timing of its own,
it’s corresponding to a thought-crime
though you feel it to the bone.

I could have been a useful citizen
but now it’s Radio City,
when you are addicted to it,
how the music can intuit
a condition, nothing more
is needed and you know the score.
I’m not working anymore,
I’m walking and I know the score.