"In every real man a child is hidden that wants to play."
-Friedrich Nietzsche
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A motorcycle functions entirely in accordance with the laws of reason, and a study of the art of motorcycle maintenance is really a miniature study of the art of rationality itself. -Robert Pirsig
LiveIreland.com
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I am of a dying breed
A son of thunder
Born from the wind
I am of the lost brotherhood
The one that never was
I live in a broken dream
My wings slowly bleeding
On a floor of clouds
So cry not for me
If winter touched my hair
Did he not leave tears of wisdom
On my face
Cry not for me
If I shall find my grave
On the winding roads I crave
If I’m not of age
As my soul is leaving
attached to a warm bullet
For I have no brother
A son of thunder
Born from the wind
I am of the lost brotherhood
The one that never was
I live in a broken dream
My wings slowly bleeding
On a floor of clouds
So cry not for me
If winter touched my hair
Did he not leave tears of wisdom
On my face
Cry not for me
If I shall find my grave
On the winding roads I crave
If I’m not of age
As my soul is leaving
attached to a warm bullet
For I have no brother
to sing with me
The songs I hear
As I ride alone
On roads going nowhere
The songs I hear
As I ride alone
On roads going nowhere
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