We ride at noon. A greasy spoon, a service station sandwich.
A grateful nod from unexpected quarters as the heat went out of the day.
Machine still needs nutrition despite operator change. A simple and then central apprehension that some obstacles remain.
A simple change has taken place - the end result remains to be seen.
Caltrops across the riverbed instead.
Suspended, sharpened - held by hairs' breadth ticker tape anomaly.
It's funny to think the whole bloody thing could have been avoided. A simple mistake, a combinatory of factors. A common thread running through each morning.
And you'd better think of a name for these people!
If your books are an oil sump for a hamster wheel heart, be sure to be careful what you read after dark ! When the warden comes round with a shower of bastards DEMANDING a coin be placed into his basket, will you go toe to toe with his two lads of eighteen and nineteen, built like outhouses, nothing between the ears?
Your cells are expendable, built to expire - but right now, the I of your I's two left feet are on fire. Let them in!
Track Name: Zadok - The Riders, The Runners (Live)
The Compere is asleep in his trailer.
Before he opens his eyes, at an unseen signal the heavens will open.
The Grooms are drunk rolling all over a washed out seam picked clean. Their women are falling to pieces.
Poacher turned Gamekeeper. The riders and runners are peaceful. They’ll race in the morning complete, out on the wall of Death.
Relax for your danger suit fitting! Set foot in the control centre and the medics will carry you out. Express some slight reservation – on it goes, in red ink, on your file. Prepare your robot for branding. A parasite eve injection ahead of a hoof inspection writ by mitochondria.