Rolling

You sit astride your steed and hold the grips with leathered hands,
you do not heed the morning cold
as the early sky begins to gold.
The button thumbed,
the engine fires, the iron beast trembles
eager to get her tyres
rolling.

The song of power, muted thunder, sweeping curves and distant places.
A group of bikers inspires wonder
preferring speed and open spaces.
You grab a handful,
roll it on
she leaps ahead at your command
or slows right down as you demand,
but keeps her tyres
rolling

Gaze far ahead, look close about as the road goes by beneath your feet.
You're in the wind, you want to shout,
you feel the rain your thoughts are fleet.
No need to speak
just to sing
the song of freedom
and feel her tyres
rolling

If you knew how I feel as I open her up, the wind in my face, the sound in my ears
it's like sipping life from a precious cup.
My only regret is all the years
without the iron maiden.
Now I live
I'm in the wind
and I'll keep her tyres
rolling

- Andrew Wood