Red Barchetta

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