TWENTY FIRST CENTURY MAN

(Timothy Brickley & David Rheins)

What Indians could do with straw and stone,

I do with keyboards alone,

plugged in with nimble finger speed,

I do alone to meet my need.

No gather nor hunter, I,

no aboriginal forest dweller, me,

I haunt this hellish one-room pad,

one floor above a grocery, not so bad.

    Twenty First Century Man am I

    well-groomed animale

    Twenty First Century Man, me.

    Kept the fangs, so let me be.

What once we did to stuff our gut,

where once we ate to keep alive,

now we strive to pay the rent,

and play to trim our size.

We celebrate no particular thing at all,

just drink and smoke and drink and ball

and wonder why the silence seems so tall

and everything else so small

    Twenty First Century Man am I

    well-groomed animale

    Twenty First Century Man, me.

    Kept the fangs, so let me be.

We work our lives for the mighty budget,

spend our bucks on the latest widget,

spend our evenings trying to lay Gidget

but it only brings us more debt.

    Twenty First Century Man am I

    well-groomed animale

    Twenty First Century Man, me.

    Kept the fangs, so let me be.

    Kept the fangs, so let me be.

                                                                                 Copyright 1994, Timothy Brickley & David Rheins