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 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 the 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 - Adrenaline 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 toward 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 ...