Karaoké Red Barchetta Rush

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

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 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