Prototype - Red Barchetta Lyrics
My uncle has a country place,that no one knows aboutHe says it used to be a farm,before the Motor LawOn Sundays I elude the Eyes,And hop the turbine freightTo far outside the Wire,where my white-haired uncle waitsJump to the groundAs the turbo slows to cross the borderlineRun like the wind,As excitement shivers up and down my spineDown in his barnMy uncle preserved for me, an old machine -For fifty-odd yearsTo keep it as new has been his dearest dreamI strip away the old debris, that hides the shining carA brilliant red Barchetta, from a better, vanished timeFire up the willing engine, responding with a roarTires spitting gravel, I commit my weekly crime ...Wind in my hair -Shifting and drifting -Mechanical music -Adrenaline surge -Well-weathered leatherHot metal and oilThe scented country airSunlight on chromeThe blur of the landscapeEvery nerve awareSuddenly, ahead of me, across the mountainsideA gleaming alloy air-car shoots toward me,two lanes wideI spin around with shrieking tires,to run the deadly raceGo screaming through the valley as anotherjoins the chaseDrive like the windStraining the limits of machine and manLaughing out loudWith fear and hope, I've got a desperate planAt the one-lane bridgeI leave the giants strandedAt the riversideRace back to the farmTo dream with my uncleAt the fireside ...
