My uncle has a country place that no one knows about  He says it used to be a farm before the Motor Law  And 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  I 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 ahoots 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  © CORE MUSIC PUBLISHING CO;