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Red Barchetta
Rush
Popularity ยท Moderate
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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My uncle has a country place that no one knows about
He says it used to be a farm, before the Motor Law
On Sundays I elude the "Eyes" and hop the Turbine freight
To far outside the Wire, where my white-haired uncle waits
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Jump to the ground as the Turbo slows, the borderline
Run like the wind as excitement shivers up and down my spine
And down in his barn my uncle preserved for me an old machine for 50 odd years
To keep it as new has been, his dearest dream
I strip away the old debris, hide a shining car
A brilliant red Barchetta from a better, vanished time
Well, fire up the willing engine, responding with a roar
Tires spitting gravel, I commit my weekly crime
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Wind in my hair
Shifting and drifting
Mechanical music
Adrenaline surge
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Well-weathered leather, hot metal and oil
The scented country air
Sunlight on chrome, the blur of the landscape
Every nerve aware
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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
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Run 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 by the fireside
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