Fly on a windshield de Genesis

There's something solid forming in the air,
the wall of death is lowered in times square.
no-one seems to care,
they carry on as if nothing was there.
the wind is blowing harder now,
blowing dust into my eyes.
the dust settles on my skin,
making a crust i cannot move in
and i'm hovering like a fly, waiting for the windshield on the freeway.