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A NICE MORNING DRIVE by Richard S. Foster

[ Tomado de la revista Road & Track -- Noviembre 1973, pp.148-150 ]

Historia que sirve de inspiración para la canción "RED BARCHETTA" CHECA LA TRADUCCIÓN MAS ABAJO

It was a fine morning in March 1982. The warm weather and clear sky gave promise of an early spring. Buzz had arisen early that morning, impatiently eaten breakfast and .gone to the garage. Opening the door, he saw the sunshine bounce off the gleaming hood of his I5-year-old MGB roadster. After carefully checking the fluid levels, tire pressures and ignition wires, Buzz slid behind the wheel and cranked the engine, which immediately fired to life. He thought happily of the next few hours he would spend with the car, but his happiness was clouded - it was not as easy as it used to be.

A dozen years ago things had begun changing. First there were a few modest safety and emission improvements required on new cars; gradually these became more comprehensive. The governmental requirements reached an adequate level, but they didn't stop; they continued and became more and more stringent. Now there were very few of the older models left, through natural deterioration and . . . other reasons.

The MG was warmed up now and Buzz left the garage, hoping that this early in the morning there would be no trouble. He kept an eye on the instruments as he made his way down into the valley. The valley roads were no longer used very much: the small farms were all owned by doctors and the roads were somewhat narrow for the MSVs (Modern Safety Vehicles).

The safety crusade had been well done at first. The few harebrained schemes were quickly ruled out and a sense of rationality developed. But in the late Seventies, with no major wars, cancer cured and social welfare straightened out. the politicians needed a new cause and once again they turned toward the automobile. The regulations concerning safety became tougher. Cars became larger, heavier, less efficient. They consumed gasoline so voraciously that the United States had had to become a major ally with the Arabian countries. The new cars were hard to stop or maneuver quickly. but they would save your life (usually) in a 5O-mph crash. With 200 million cars on the road, however, few people ever drove that fast anymore.

Buzz zipped quickly to the valley floor, dodging the frequent potholes which had developed from neglect of the seldom-used roads. The engine sounded spot-on and the entire car had a tight, good feeling about it. He negotiated several quick S-curves and reached 6000 in third gear before backing off for the next turn. He didn't worry about the police down here. No, not the cops . . .

Despite the extent of the safety program. it was essentially a good idea. But unforeseen complications had arisen. People became accustomed to cars which went undamaged in lO-mph collisions. They gave even less thought than before to the possibility of being injured in a crash. As a result, they tended to worry less about clearances and rights-of-way, so that the accident rate went up a steady six percent every year. But the damages and injuries actually decreased, so the government was happy, the insurance industry was happy and most of the car owners were happy. Most of the car ownersi-the owners of the non-MSV cars were kept busy dodging the less careful MSV drivers, and the result of this mismatch left very few of the older cars in existence. If they weren't crushed between two 6000-pound sleds on the highway they were quietly priced into the junkyard by the insurance peddlers. And worst of all, they became targets . . .

Buzz was well into his act now, speeding through the twisting valley roads with all the skill he could muster, to the extent that he had forgotten his earlier worries. Where the road was unbroken he would power around the turns in well controlled oversteer, and where the sections were potholed he saw them as devious chicanes to be mastered. He left the ground briefly going over one of the old wooden bridges and later ascertained that the MG would still hit 110 on the long stretch between the old Hanlin and Grove farms. He was just beginning to wind down when he saw it, there in his mirror, a late-model MSV with hand-painted designs covering most of its body (one of the few modifications allowed on post-1980 cars). Buzz hoped it was a tourist or a wayward driver who got lost looking for a gas station. But now the MSV driver had spotted the MG, and with a whoosh of a well muffled, well cleansed exhaust he started the chase . . .

It hadn't taken long for the less responsible element among drivers to discover that their new MSVs could inflict great damage on an older car and go unscathed themselves. As a result some drivers would go looking for the older cars in secluded areas, bounce them off the road or into a bridge abutment, and then speed off undamaged, relieved of whatever frustrations cause this kind of behavior. Police seldom patrolled these out-of-the-way places, their attentions being required more urgently elsewhere, and so it became a great sport for some drivers.

Buzz wasn't too worried yet. This had happened a few times before, and unless the MSV driver was an exceptionally good one, the MG could be called upon to elude the other driver without too much difficulty. Yet something bothered him about this gaudy MSV in his mirror, but what was it? Planning carefully, Buzz let the other driver catch up to within a dozen yards or so, and then suddenly shot off down a road to the right. The MSV driver stood on his brakes, skidding 400 feet down the road, made a lumbering U-turn and set off once again after the roadster. The MG had gained a quarter mile in this manner and Buzz was thankful for the radial tires and front and rear anti-roll bars he had put on the car a few years back. He was flying along the twisting road, downshifting, cornering, accelerating and all the while planning his route ahead. He was confident that if he couldn't outrun the MSV then he could at least hold it off for another hour or more, at which time the MSV would be quite low on gas. But what was it that kept bothering him about the other car?

They reached a straight section of the road and Buzz opened it up all the way and held it. The MSV was quite a way back but not so far that Buzz couldn't distinguish the tall antenna standing up from the back bumper. Antenna! Not police, but perhaps a Citizen's Band radio in the MSV? He quaked slightly and hoped it was not. The straight stretch was coming to an end now and Buzz put off braking to the last fraction of a second and then sped through a 75-mph right-hander, gaining ten more yards on the MSV. But less than a quarter mile ahead another huge MSV was slowly pulling across the road and to a stop. It was a CB set. The other driver had a cohort in the chase. Now Buzz was in trouble. He stayed on the gas until within a few hundred feet when he banked hard and feinted passing to the left. The MSV crawled in that direction and Buzz slipped by on the right. bouncing heavily over a stone on the shoulder. The two MSVs set off in hot pursuit, almost colliding in the process. Buzz turned right at the first crossroad and then made a quick left, hoping to be out of sight of his pursuers, and in fact he traveled several minutes before spotting one of them on the main road parallel to his lane. At the same time the other appeared in the mirror from around the last comer. By now they were beginning to climb the hills on the far side of the valley and Buzz pressed on for all he was worth, praying that the straining engine would stand up. He lost track of one MSV when the main road turned away, but could see the other one behind him on occasion. Climbing the old Monument Road, Buzz hoped to have time to get over the top and down the old dirt road to the right, which would be too narrow for his pursuers. Climbing, straining, the water temperature rising, using the entire road, flailing the shift lever back and forth from 3rd to 4th, not touching the brakes but scrubbing off the necessary speed in the corners, reaching the peak of the mountain where the lane to the old fire tower went off to the left . . . but coming up the other side of the hill was the second MSV he had lost track of! No time to get to his dirt road. He made a panicked turn left onto the fire tower road but spun on some loose gravel and struck a tree a glancing blow with his right fender. He came to a stop on the opposite side of the road. the engine stalled. Hurriedly he pushed the starter while the overheated engine slowly came back into life. He engaged 1st gear and sped off up the road, just as the first MSV turned the corner. Dazed though he was, Buzz had the advantage of a very narrow road lined on both sides with trees, and he made the most of it. The road twisted constantly and he stayed in 2nd with the engine between 5000 and 5500. The crash hadn't seemed to hurt anything and he was pulling away from the MSV. But to where? It hit him suddenly that the road dead-ended at the fire tower, no place to go but back . . .

Still he pushed on and at the top of the hill drove quickly to the far end of the clearing, turned the MG around and waited. The first MSV came flying into the clearing and aimed itself at the sitting MG. Buzz grabbed reverse gear, backed up slightly to feint, stopped, and then backed up at full speed. The MSV, expecting the MG to change direction, veered the wrong way and slid to a stop up against a tree. Buzz was off again, down the fire tower road, and the undamaged MSV set off in pursuit. Buzz's predicament was unenviable. He was going full tilt down the twisting blacktop with a solid MSV coming up at him. and an equally solid MSV coming down after him. On he went, however, braking hard before each turn and then accelerating back up to 45 in between. Coming down to a particularly tight turn, he saw the MSV coming around it from the other direction and stood on the brakes. The sudden extreme pressure in the brake lines was too much for the rear brake line which had been twisted somewhat in his spin, and it broke, robbing Buzz of his brakes. In sheer desperation he pulled the handbrake as tightly as it would go and rammed the gear lever into 1st, popping the clutch as he did so. The back end locked solid and broke away, spinning him off the side of the road and miraculously into some bushes, which brought the car to a halt. As he was collecting his senses, Buzz saw the two MSVs, unable to stop in time, ram each other head on at over 40 mph.

It was a long time before Buzz had the MG rebuilt to its original pristine condition of before the chase. It was an even longer time before he went back into the valley for a drive. Now it was only in the very early hours of the day when most people were still sleeping off the effects of the good life. And when he saw in the papers that the government would soon be requiring cars to be capable of withstanding 75-mph headon collisions, he stopped driving the MG altogether.


por Richard S. Foster Historia que sirve de inspiración para la canción "RED BARCHETTA" Tomado de la revista Road & Track -- Noviembre 1973, pp.148-150
Era en una bonita mañana de Marzo de1982. El calido clima y el cielo despejado prometian una temprana primavera. Buzz se levanto pronto esa mañana, desayuno impacientemente y bajo al garaje. Abrio la puerta y vio el brillo del sol reflejado en el capot de su viejo modelo de 15 años MGB roadster. Despues de comprobar cuidadosamente los niveles, la presion de los neumaticos y los cables del distribuidor, Buzz se deslizo tras el volante y puso en marcha el motor, que inmediatamente volvio a la vida. Penso felizmente en las horas que pasaria con el coche, pero su felicidad se oscurecio; no seria tan facil como solia serlo otras veces. Una docena de años atrás las cosas habian empezado a cambiar. Primero fueron unas pequeñas mejoras en la seguridad y en las emisiones que se exigian a los vehiculos; gradualmente se fueron extendiendo. Las exigencias gubernamentales adquirieron un nivel muy adecuado pero no pararon ahí; continuaron y se hicieron mas y mas estrictas. Ya solo quedaban unos pocos modelos antiguos, por el deterioro natural y...otras razones. El MG se calento y Buzz salio del garaje, esperando que no hubieran problemas esa mañana. Mantenia los ojos fijos en los instrumentos mientras bajaba abajo por el valle. La carretera del valle no se utilizaba mucho esos dias: las pequeñas granjas las tenian ahora en propiedad algunos medicos y esos caminos eran algo asi como estrechos para los MSV (Vehiculos con seguridad moderna). La cruzada por la seguridad habia ido bien en un principio. Fueron desapareciendo los disparatados esquemas obsoletos y nacio un sentido de la racionalidad que se desarrollo rapidamente. Pero a finales de los setenta, sin grandes guerras que batallar, el cancer curado y el bienestar social en marcha, los politicos necesitaron una nueva causa y se inclinaron otra vez hacia el automovil. Las normas que concernian al automovil se fueron endureciendo. Los coches se hicieron mas grandes, mas duros, menos eficientes. Consumian gasolina tan vorazmente que los USA tuvieron que convertirse en aliados de los paises arabes. Los nuevos coches eran dificiles de maniobrar y parar rapidamente, pero eran capaces de salvar tu vida (normalmente) en un accidente a 75 km.hora. Con 200 millones de coches en la carretera, sin embargo, poca gente conducia tan rapidamente ya. Buzz se deslizó rapidamente por el suelo del valle, regateando los frecuentes baches que se habian ido formando por la negligencia de las rara vez usadas carreteras. El motor sono con energia y todo el coche vibro con el. Tomo rapidamente las curvas en S y alcanzo las 6000 rpm en tercera antes de tomar la siguiente curva. No le importo la policia que habia alla abajo. No, ni los policias... A pesar de la extension del programa de seguridad, esa fue esencialmente una buena idea. Pero de repente surgieron complicaciones. La gente se habia acostumbrado a coches que no recibian daño alguno en accidentes a 15 km.hora. Habia perdido el miedo de poderse hacer daño en un accidente. Como resultado, tendian a preocuparse menos por despejar las calles y ceder las preferencias, asi que el nivel de accidentes subia un seis por ciento cada año. Pero los daños y heridas habian descendido, asi que el gobierno era feliz, la industria de las compañias de seguros eran felices y la mayoria de los conductores eran felices. La mayoria de los dueños de vehiculos no-MSV estaban ocupados sorteando a los menos cuidadosos conductores MSV, y el rsultado se esa confrontacion dejaba que muchos coches antiguos dejaran de existir. Si no eran chafados entre dos cacharros de 6000 libras en la autopista, eran depreciados en los vertederos de los vendedores de seguros. Y lo peor de todo se convertian en el blanco... Buzz sabia lo que hacia, bajando a toda hostia por la serpenteante carretera del valle con toda la destreza que pudo reunir, hasta el punto que olvido sus anteriores preocupaciones. Donde la carretera estaba en buen estado apretaba el acelerador controlandolo con habilidad, y donde habia baches los veia como enrevesadas chicanes que debian ser amaestradas. Se elevaba del suelo brevemente mientras pasaba los viejos puentes de madera y mas tarde averiguo que el MG todavia alcanzaba los 180 en la larga recta entre la viejas granjas de Hamlin y Grove. Estaba simplemente empezando a bajar cuando lo vio, ahi en el espejo, un ultimo modelo MSV con diseño pintado a mano cubriendo la mayor parte de su carroceria (una de las pocas modificaciones permitidas en los modelos de despues de 1980). Buzz espero que fuera un turista o un despistado buscando una gasolinera. Pero el nuevo MSV habia alcanzado el MG, y con un flash silencioso y limpio, comenzo la persecucion... No hubiera tomado mucho tiempo a los menos responsables descubrir que su nuevo MSV podria haber hecho un daño irreparable a un coche mas antiguo y quedar ileso el mismo. Como resultado algunos conductores buscaban viejos coches en areas restringidas, los sacaban de la carretera o los mandaban contra los arcos de un puente, y acto seguido huian sin daño alguno, a salvo de las frustraciones que creaban su comportamiento. La policia rara vez patrullaba esas viejas carreteras, sus atenciones puestas en lugares mas urgentes, de manera que se convirtio en un gran deporte entre algunos conductores. Buzz no estaba todavia demasiado preocupado. Esto ya habia ocurrido antes en otras ocasiones, y a menos que el conductor del MSV fuera excepcional, el MG podria eludir al otro conducor sin demasiada dificultad. Habia algo que le llamaba la atencion de ese llamativo MSV en su retrovisor, pero que era? Planeandolo cuidadosamente, Buzz dejo al otro conductor alcanzarlo en una docena de yardas mas o menos, y entonces de repente, apreto el acelerador por una carretera a la derecha. El conductor del MSV freno bruscamente, resbalando unos 400 pies por la carretera, hizo un giro en U y comenzo a perseguir al roadster. El MG gano unos 500 metros de esta manera y Buzz agradecio los neumaticos y las barras antivuelco anteriores y posteriores que habia puesto en el coche años atras. Volaba por la serpenteante carretera, reduciendo, girando, acelerando y mientras tanto planeando la ruta. Se dio cuenta de que si no podia perder al MSV podria por lo menos mantenerlo otra hora o mas asi, tras la cual el MSV se quedaria sin gasolina. Pero que era lo que le mantenia preocupado por el otro coche? Alcanzaron un tramo recto de la carretera y Buzz se mantuvo delante todo el camino. El MSV estaba bastante alejado pero no lo suficiente para que Buzz no distinguiera la larga antena que se elevaba desde el parachoques trasero. Antena! No de la policia, puede que fuera de alguna banda de radio de policia ciudadana, una banda de radio ciudadana en el MSV? Temblo ligeramente y espero que no fuera asi. La recta estaba acabando y Buzz apuro la frenada hasta el ultimo segundo y acelero a 100 km.hora a la derecha, ganando 10 yardas mas sobre el MSV. Pero en menos de unos 500 metros, otro gran MSV se acercaba lentamente por la carretera hacia un stop. Era un set CB. El otro conductor tenia un compañero en la persecucion. Ahora Buzz tenia problemas. Se mantuvo acelerando unos cientos de metros por la cuneta y adelantando por la izquierda. El MSV repto en esa direccion y Buzz se deslizo por la derecha, golpeando fuertemente una piedra de la cuneta. Los dos MSV continuaron en la persecucion, chocando casi en el proceso. Buzz giro a la derecha en el primer cruce y luego hizo un brusco giro a la izquierda, esperando desaparecer de la vista de sus perseguidores, y de hecho viajo mucho tiempo antes de volver a verlo en la carretera principal paralela al camino. Al mismo tiempo aparecio el otro en el espejo en la ultima curva. Pero ahora estaban empezando a subir las colinas en el lado lejano del valle y Buzz siguio adelante todo lo que pudo, rezando que el motor no lo dejara colgado. Perdio la huella de un MSV cuando la carretera principal giro, pero podia ver ocasionalmente al otro tras el en ocasiones. Subiendo la vieja carretera del Monumento, Buzz deseo tener tiempo para alcanzar la cima y bajar por la vieja carretera de la derecha, que seria demasiado estrecha para sus perseguidores. Subiendo, en tension, la temperatura del agua subiendo, usando toda la carretera, agitando la palanca del cambio adelante y atrás de 3 a 4ª, sin tocar los frenos pero arañando la velocidad necesaria en las curvas, alcanzando la cima de la montaña donde la silueta de de la vieja torre de fuego iba hacia la izquierda... pero subia por el otro lado de la colina el segundo MSV del que habia perdido el rastro! No habia tiempo para alcanzar la vieja carretera. Hizo un temeroso giro a la izquierda en la torre de fuego pero resbalo con la gravilla y choco contra un arbol con el parachoques derecho. Se acerco a un stop en el lado opuesto de la carretera, el motor se calo. Rapidamente puso el starter mientras el sobrecalentado motor volvio lentamente a la vida. Metio la primera y salio directo por la carretera, justo mientras el primer MSV giraba la curva. Aturdido como estaba, Buzz tenia la ventaja de una carretera muy estrecha alineada con arboles en ambos lados, e hizo lo que pudo. La carretera giraba constantemente y se mantuvo en segunda con el motor entre 5000 y 5500.El golpe no parecia haber dañado nada y se estaba alejando de los MSV. Pero a donde iba? Le sorprendio que la carretera acabara en la torre de fuego, no habia otro camino que la vuelta atrás... Se mantuvo acelerando y en lo alto de la colina condujo rapidamente hacia el final del llano, giro el MG y espero. El primer MSV vino volando por el llano y se poso junto al parado MG. Buzz metio la marcha atras, fue hacia atrás suavemente para hacer una finta, se paro, y despues fue marcha atrás a toda velocidad. El MSV, esperando que el MG cambiara de direccion, tomo el camino equivocado y choco en lo alto contra un arbol. Buzz estaba fuera otra vez, bajando la carretera de la torre de fuego otra vez, y el MSV no dañado siguio la persecucion. El apuro de Buzz era envidiable. Iba toda hostia hasta abajo con un solido MSV subiendo en direccion contraria, y un igualmente solido MSV bajaba en direccion hacia el. Siguio adelante, igualmente, frenando con fuerza en cada curva y acelerando a 70 entre ellas. Bajando un particular giro dificil, vio el MSV en la otra direccion y apreto con fuerza los frenos. La repentina presion en los frenos fue demasiado para los tubos traseros que se debian haber dañado en algun momento de la carrera, y se rompieron, dejando a Buzz sin frenos. En desesperada desesperacion echo el freno de mano tan rapidamente como pudo y redujo a primera soltando el embrague mientras lo hacia. Los frenos traseros parecia solidos y frenaron el eje trasero, girando el vehiculo fuera de la carretera y milagrosamente contra unos arbustos, que pararon el vehiculo en seco. Mientras recuperaba sus sentidos, Buzz vio a los dos MSV, incapaces de para a tiempo, chocar el uno contra el otro a mas de 60. Llevo mucho tiempo a Buzz recomponer el MG a la brillante condicion que tenia antes de la carrera. Paso incluso mas tiempo antes de que volviera darse una vuelta por el valle. Ahora solo en las primeras horas del dia cuando la mayoria de la gente aun duerme los efectos de la buena vida. Y cuando vio en los periodicos que el gobierno pronto exigiria a los coches ser capaces de absorber colisiones frontales a mas de 110 kmhora, dejo de conducir, dejo completamente de conducir el MG.

KUBLA KHAN by Samuel Taylor C.

Poema que sirve de inspiración para la canción "XANADU"

                In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
                A stately pleasure dome decree:
                Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
                Through caverns measureless to man
5                 Down to a sunless sea.
                So twice five miles of fertile ground
                With walls and towers were girdled round:
                And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
                Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
10              And here were forests ancient as the hills,
                Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

                But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
                Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
                A savage place! as holy and enchanted
15              As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
                By woman wailing for her demon lover!
                And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
                As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
                A mighty fountain momently was forced:
20              Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
                Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
                Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
                And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
                It flung up momently the sacred river.
25              Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
                Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
                Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
                And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
                And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
30              Ancestral voices prophesying war!

                    The shadow of the dome of pleasure
                    Floated midway on the waves;
                    Where was heard the mingled measure
                    From the fountain and the caves.
35              It was a miracle of rare device,
                A sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice!
                    A damsel with a dulcimer
                    In a vision I once saw:
                    It was an Abyssinian maid,
40                  And on her dulcimer she played,
                    Singing of Mount Abora.
                    Could I revive within me
                    Her symphony and song,
                    To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
45              That with music loud and long,
                I would build that dome in air,
                That sunny dome! Those caves of ice!
                And all who heard should see them there,
                And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
50              His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
                Weave a circle round him thrice,
                And close your eyes with holy dread,
                For he on honeydew hath fed,
                And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

By Dylan Thomas

Poema que sirve de inspiración para la canción "RED TIDE"

    Do not go gentle into that good night,
    Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
    Rage, rage aginst the dying of the light.

    Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
    Because their words had forked no lightning they
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
    Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
    And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
    Blind eyes could blaze like meteors be gay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    And you, my father, there on sad height,
    Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray,
    Do not go gentle into that good night.
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


Poema que sirve de inspiración para la canción "DOUBLE AGENT"

               Thou hast nor youth nor age
               But as it were an after dinner sleep
               Dreaming of both.

Here I am, an old man in a dry month,
Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain,
I was neither at the hot gates
Nor fought in the warm rain
Nor knee deep in the salt marsh, heaving a cutlass,
Bitten by flies, fought.
My house is a decayed house,
And the Jew squats on the window sill, the owner,
Spawned in some estaminet of Antwerp,
Blistered in Brussels, patched and peeled in London.
The goat coughs at night in the field overhead;
Rocks, moss, stonecrop, iron, merds.
The woman keeps the kitchen, makes tea,
Sneezes at evening, poking the peevish gutter.
                              I an old man,
A dull head among windy spaces.

Signs are taken for wonders. 'We would see a sign!'
The word within a word, unable to speak a word,
Swaddled with darkness. In the juvescence of the year
Came Christ the tiger
In depraved May, dogwood and chestnut, flowering judas,
To be eaten, to be divided, to be drunk
Among whispers; by Mr. Silvero
With caressing hands, at Limoges
Who walked all night in the next room;

By Hakagawa, bowing among the Titians;
By Madame de Tornquist, in the dark room
Shifting the candles; Fraulein von Kulp
Who turned in the hall, one hand on the door. Vacant shuttles
Weave the wind. I have no ghosts,
An old man in a draughty house
Under a windy knob.
After such knowledge what forgiveness? Think now
History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors
And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions,
Guides us by vanities. Think now
She gievs when our attention is distracted
And what she gives, gives with such supple confusions
That the giving famishes the craving. Gives too late
What's not believed in, or if still believed,
In memory only, reconsidered passion. Gives too soon
Into weak hands, what's thought can be dispensed with
Till the refusal propogates fear. Think
Neither fear nor courage saves us. Unnatural vices
Are fathered by our heroism. Virtues
Are forced upon us by our impudent crimes.
These tears are shaken from the wrath-bearing tree.

The tiger springs in the new year. Us he devours. Think at last
We have not reached conclusion, when I
Stiffen in a rented house. Think at last
I have not made this show purposelessly
And it is not by any concitation
Of the backward devils.
I would meet you upon this honestly.
I that was near your heart was removed therefrom
To lose beauty in terror, terror in inquisition.
I have lost my passion: why should I need to keep it
Since what is kept must be adulterated?
I have lost my sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch:
How should I use them for your closer contact?

These with a thousand small deliberations
Protract the profit of their chilled delirium,
Excite the membrane, when the sense has cooled,
With pungent sauces, multiply variety
In a wilderness of mirrors. What will the spider do,
Suspend ist operations, will the weevil
Delay? De Bailhache, Fresca, Mrs. Cammel, whirled
Beyond the circuit of the shuddering Bear
In fractured atoms. Gull against the wind, in the windy straits
Of Belle Isle, or running on the Horn,
White feathers in the snow, the Gulf claims,
And an aold man driven by the Trades
To a sleepy corner.

                              Tenants of a dry house,
                              Thoughts of a dry brain
                              in a dry season.

There Is a Lake Between Sun & Moon

by Pye Dubois

Poema que sirvió de inspiración para la canción "BETWEEN SUN & MOON"

There is a lake between sun and moon
Not too many know about
Some go there for their high noon
Some go there for their midnight moon
It is a moment between silence and shout
Maybe you, might as well me
Why the sun, why the sun

Say yes, say yes, ahh say yes to self-esteem

We want to escape because we don't want to fall in
The signs are clear and so is the fear
We do not trust the firmness of the ground

Then say yes, say yes, ahh say yes to self-esteem

There is a fine place between actor and audience
This is the fine line
The fine line of living
This moment experienced
This fine deliverance
Do what you want to do in no ordinary way
Say what you need to say in no ordinary way
And sing what must be sung in no ordinary way

Say yes, ahh please, please say yes to self esteem

Some go there for their high noon
Some go there fo their midnight moon

It is the moment between silent and shout
This is a fine place
Faces face to face
These bonfire eyes
In the lake of the sky
It is our light to land and leave
Never so dark to unravel the weave
Never give up and never say die

Do what you need to do in no ordinary way
Say what you need to say in no ordinary way
And sing what must be sung in no ordinary way