The Secet History of Rock n Roll

 

The secret history of rock and roll
Is evocative of the smell of
Mackerel and old tube socks.
One must fly a kite in order to
Understand that only windy
Days are any good for standing still.
On others, you must run, lest it
Falls dead upon the ground,
Like a beached horseshoe crab.
From origin through evolution

One must strive for the ultimate
Goal: Transmission; 
The gray tissue of the brain
Molders as a piece of
Bread forgotten on a pantry
Shelf without it.
On the highway, the stripes
Blurrrrr as progress is made,
Being no more than motley
Corporations of yellow and

White which shift with
The times.
When finally the road
Lies black and barren,
It leads nowhere but down,
And whether it is a windy day
Or not
You have no choice
But still.