My uncle has a country place
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'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-weathered leather
Hot metal and oil
The scent of 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