The Shadow of the Reaper
Reading my favourite blogs tonight I came across some bad and sad news.
First, Christiana, the wife of Mike Hendrix died in a motorbike accident. That is just horrible, so much I don't really have words to say. Yes, for all the words I've written here, in real life I'm more on the shy side and tend to remain speechless.
My condolescences to Mike; he's a good man and must be going through hell now.
And I can't help recalling a friend of mine, who died in a motorbike accident too, on a sunny May morning. The bitter irony is that he drove and rode while utterly drunk in the wee hours too many times to count, and he never got injured. That morning he was stone cold sober and riding to work after a good night's sleep. Another driver was involved in the accident, but nobody except him knows what role - if any - he had.
And so my friend died of internal injuries. He lived fast, played hard and died young. And we of the gang were pretty much devastated - I escaped the worst because I was still living in London at the time. Now my other mates don't talk much about it, but one drunken night one of them, the closest to the departed, was crying uncontrollably about that loss.
And like it wasn't enough, also the grandmother of Jeff Goldstein died. But all considered, the passing away of an old woman is much less shocking - at least in my opinion.
Probably it was Ian "Lemmy" Kilminster that penned the proper epitaph for a biker. Iron Horse:
First, Christiana, the wife of Mike Hendrix died in a motorbike accident. That is just horrible, so much I don't really have words to say. Yes, for all the words I've written here, in real life I'm more on the shy side and tend to remain speechless.
My condolescences to Mike; he's a good man and must be going through hell now.
And I can't help recalling a friend of mine, who died in a motorbike accident too, on a sunny May morning. The bitter irony is that he drove and rode while utterly drunk in the wee hours too many times to count, and he never got injured. That morning he was stone cold sober and riding to work after a good night's sleep. Another driver was involved in the accident, but nobody except him knows what role - if any - he had.
And so my friend died of internal injuries. He lived fast, played hard and died young. And we of the gang were pretty much devastated - I escaped the worst because I was still living in London at the time. Now my other mates don't talk much about it, but one drunken night one of them, the closest to the departed, was crying uncontrollably about that loss.
And like it wasn't enough, also the grandmother of Jeff Goldstein died. But all considered, the passing away of an old woman is much less shocking - at least in my opinion.
Probably it was Ian "Lemmy" Kilminster that penned the proper epitaph for a biker. Iron Horse:
He rides a road That don't have no end
An open highway
Without any bends
Tramp and his stallion
Alone in a dream
Proud in his colours
As the chromium gleams
On Iron Horse he flies
On Iron Horse he gladly dies
Iron Horse his wife
Iron Horse his life
He lives his life
He's living it fast
Don't try to hide
When the dice have been cast
He rides a whirlwind
That cuts to the bone
Wasted forever
Ferociously stoned
On Iron Horse he flies
On Iron Horse he gladly dies
Iron Horse his wife
Iron Horse his life
One day, one day
They'll go for the sun
Forever they'll fly
On the eternal run
Wasted forever
On speed, bikes and booze
Yeah, us and the brothers
We're all born to loose
On Iron Horse he flies
On Iron Horse he gladly dies
Iron Horse his wife
Iron Horse his life
postato da Fabio alle
18:43
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