My uncle has a country place
that no one knows about
he says it used to be a farm
before the motor law
and now on sundays i elude the eyes
and hop the turbine freight
to far outside the wire where my
white-haired uncle waits
Jump to the ground as the turbo slows
to cross the borderline
run like the wind as excitement shivers
up and down my spine
but down in his barn
my uncle preserved for me
an old machine
for fifty-odd years
to keep it as new
has been his dearest dream
I strip away the old debris
that hides a shining car
a brilliant red barchetta
from a better vanished time
we'll fire up the willing engine
responding with a roar
tires spitting gravel
i commit my weekly crime
Wind – in my hair –
shifting and drifting
mechanical music
adrenaline surge
Well-oiled leather
hot metal and oil
the scented country air
Sunlight on chrome
the blur of the landscape
every nerve aware
Suddenly ahead of me
across the mountainside
a gleaming alloy air-car
shoots towards me two lanes wide
oh, i spin around with shrieking tires
to run the deadly race
go screaming through the valley
as another joins the chase
Ride like the wind
straining the limits
of machine and man
laughing out loud with fear and hope
i've got a desperate plan
At the one-lane bridge
i leave the giants stranded
at the riverside
race back to the farm
to dream with my uncle
at the fireside