shores of clay

               dry desert human highway roadsigns would melt

               from the sun on the thumb of a hitch hiking soul

               it's neil percival young with a guitar tumbleweed

               heading for the spacecraft rough drafting blue ocean

               on the beach within reach he strums his holy tune

               when a light from space would erase something new

               they arrive with a note from the creator of reason

               kant said he couldn't make it and shant assure why

               just listen to the waves all coming crashin bye

               levitation forms in the old black electric scream

               he played with incredible fact piercing greens

               resting on a bent boat of notes never heard

               where hank williams adams apple shouts out fever pitches

               in the bottom of the ninth with runners in burning ditches

               he blasted a homerun expression that dreamed away

               dreamin of a new tour on bold foreign shores of clay

               confused by instruction with cool captions of eruption

               neil turned one more grey hair blacker than blue

               the drastic measurment could have ended all ships

               sinking to the heavens in opposition befriending grip

               but he broke from the crowd and soon slipped away

               in tattered jeans waving red flannel shirt & belt

               dry desert human highway roadsigns would melt