the voice crying out
at the bottom of the oil well
the arab has lost his shirt
he runs around in nothing at all
his brains are burnt
with battling for it all
just a donkey and a shirt
20th century fox
a dream on wheels
complete with ice-box
a television that sings
a gramophone that rocks
the man of the moment
is on a blacked out station
he can hear the shaking
of the world turning round
he wonders if it’s breaking
under the strain
waiting for a train
the exquisite chemical creating
bubbles of water air and sand
the sea’s continuously making
it with the land
all this to flower in
a creature
whose mind makes angels
and covers them with grease
whose eyes
can penetrate the molecules
but only if he fires
his brain with detonators
and buries his head in the sand
