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Blue Oyster Cult Spectres Golden Age Of Leather ( - B. Abbott - D. Roeser - ) Raise your can of beer on high And seal your fate forever Our best years have past us by The golden age of leather This was the night not long to come in the year of our Lord A.D. Where in a desert way-house, poised on the brink of eternity Four and ninety studded horsemen closed the knot of honor As only drunken soldiers can And passed from man to man, a wanton child to dead to care That each would find his pleasure as he might For this fantastic night was billed as nothing less than the end of an age A last crusade, a final outrage, in this day of flacid plumage And there was worn no cloth but leather Made supple by years of stinging cinders And here were seen the scars of age For age had been the common call for one last night together Down colored the sky (the ritual feast) Some had died (they were buried with their bikes) Each grabbed a rag (from a man with a sack) Torn strips of color (the red and the black) We made a vow to give it all we had to give We made a vow to die as we had lived They flew the colors, they began to fight They flailed at each other like bugs at a light Bodies and bikes beyond repair Smell of oil and gas in the air Then the wind whipped the desert with a giant hand And the humans and the Harleys caught the shifting sand And the old ranger weathered the storm And he topped the rise by the middle of morn He saw rippled dunes, calm and surreal And a glint of a shaft of chromium steel Golden age... |
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