Deep in the desert sands.
Hidden away from sight in a hot, grainy bed.
And as I grew I dreamt.
Dreamt of a life when I would be free.
For three thousand centuries I grew,
flexing half-formed muscles within my shell
while above me the world turned.
Over the years life crawled,
ebbing and flowing across my land.
Many confusing thoughts carried to me,
hateful thoughts, primitive thoughts.
Urgings and longings that called me up,
straining for the sky,
so the sun might warm my golden skin.
My time is now, I feel it.
- a rather peculiar dream -
Piled high in twisted surrealism,
gaping doors rusted and broken,
gutless machines brood;
broken dreams on buckled wheels.
The slow drip of oil,
as a split axle cries,
makes echoes of pain.
And all the while, the bloody dashboard
and broken glass
makes echoes of life.
Wind slammed doors move gently,
whispering stories on their sighing hinges.
Small pieces of scalp
flutter lifelike on the breeze.
What dreams were carried on these sagging seats
now spilling foam from gaping smiles?
What dreams that called with such urgency
none could wait to embrace them?
- scrap-yard of dreams -
More dangerous than a speeding bullet.
Smellier than an unwashed tramp.
Able to disrupt life with a single smile.
Is it a dog?
Is it a cat?
Is it even a good idea?
No - it's superbabe!
Its five year mission - to boldly mess
where no babe has messed before.