My uncle has a country place, that no-one knows about He says it used to be a farm, before the Motor Law 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 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 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 Adrenalin surge –
Well-weathered 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 I spin around with shrieking tires, to run the deadly race Go screaming through the valley as another joins the chase
Drive 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…
Great song by Rush.
I wonder, does the guy in the song actually drive the Red Barchetta or is he just “ dreaming with his uncle by the fireside” about driving it.
If the enviro-nazis have their way, there will be a Motor Law someday.