Love burns like a blue flame Through the night, your name Still burns like a blue flame How can I be free. Romantic lies Like wine Like a midnight line Make a girl go downtown Romantic lies Make the world go round. Who cares if I swear That my love for you Is so much more than a wild affair For a weekend or two. Romantic lies Like wine Like a diamond mine Make a girl go downtown Romantic lies Make the world go round.
Romantic lies are As easy as breathing Cool as believing That each kiss has a fairytale ending Just close your eyes. Romantic lies They say Like a holiday Make the world go downtown Romantic lies Make the world go round. Wired but alive At the break of the day As the last few survivors Fall away, fall away. Hey you with the head on Yeah, I mean you When the owner bombs this place Watcha gonna do I got one eye on the minute hand One eye on a girl One eye is a rubberband Gonna flick away this world.
Bus station Lotta time to kill Lotta miles Lotta pills Lotta time to kill. Like a big cat in a little cage A king in a cell Its too bad, a man my age To know this place too well. Can you show me what love is Do you understand When things get out of hand I might get lucky…. Yeah lucky Yeah lucky Whoa lucky. It was never ever easy Going inside her mind Going into the Mexican wedding of her fevered brain.
It was never ever easy Looking deep in her eyes There was no guaranteeing you could shoot your way outta there again. Gay pistoleros Drinking and fighting Playing guitars And pissing all over the lawn. Lusty senoras Kicking and biting Blowing their kisses and tossing their hair in the dawn. It was never ever easy I used to crawl out of bed Half insane from the Mexican wedding going on in her head. It was never ever easy You can take it from me That the Mexican wedding in her head was a bad place to be.
It was never ever easy It used to fill me with dread Going into the Mexican wedding going on in her head. I have seen the girls of Paris like gazelles on meth-amphetamines Cashing in their only ticket home Strung on the catwalk, loaded into limousines To fill the kind of parties where you never see the dawn. The gendarmes lead the escapee, half asleep and wired Barefoot out the doorway, and not a shot is fired The drunks are on the street now, schooners in their hand Ready for the punchline as it rolls around again.
The shadowland those silken tents are drawn across, The continent of heresy she wanders in Savoring the call to maybe this time, Make it permanent. What we once were sharing all the hopes and dreams and caring Are cast aside and left to bleed. You, on the other hand, just may be A whole new and fascinating possibility How far, and how wired Could we get on down the line Once fired On that trajectory.
The summer lightning flicks in sheets Across the world tonight All across this little town This little party light Strung out with the others Down a highway bleak and beautiful as you All flash And no relief in sight. A winter cold, eighteen, forty-three. In a whiskey rage, and a heart would bleed. She found a fancy-man, that would do the deed.
Before his eyes were cold, they had the body dumped. And at the break of day Lucretia came undone. The hangman told her the truth, She could dance with the devil at the end of a noose She felt the pain inside from the very start, All hell broke Lucy, it tore her apart. Well a spot of blood by the bed was found, It was hers not his, she was heard to shout. The trial was short the lovers had confessed, And the rope was tied and slipped around their necks And left the holy ground where they would never rest And not a tear was shed the night Lucretia left.
When I look back now I see a young man riding on A one way rail going down Only holding on Riding his addiction into Each new lonely town. Puts me in a mind, of once upon a time A hall above the beach when I was young, it was Too many years, too far behind Old piano, saxophone and drum.
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And hanging out over the sea That same summer moon laid for me A road of light on out into the night A highway to where I could be. Come on roll up that line baby roll Light up these nightshifted eyes Speed my way from midnight out to Hay Big summer moon on the rise. I rang someone from long ago Someone from a situation Long forgotten, better left alone. All around, the office crowd Filled the city, talking loud Off their face, I slipped away alone.
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Are you married, are there children Did you ever settle down With that psychopathic boy You failed to mention last time round Or is there just a lonely room Full of poetry And lots of mutilated dolls that look like me. Our old flame Our old flame When you look at me, will you see The man that I became Or will you see the boy I was See me by the light of our old flame Our old flame. Too late too late too late for love Too late too too late to start again Too late to hope for Some kind of. On and on the lazy river flows Stretching out beneath the burning sun Here we are standing in the road Each about to go our separate ways Each about to go our separate ways.
Cuppa coffee, airport bench Carry on, and me Something messed up my connection To where I want to be. I prayed like you wanted But it all felt too cheap. When you said I had to choose between This muscle car and you, my queen There was only one way that could ever go. Gotta new four hundred Hydra shift Simmons wheels, nine inch diff Bridgestone Eagers, twelve inch just because.
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- SN Magazine: Yukon Quest is hell frozen over - theranchhands.com;
The kinda thing a girl like you Can fantasize to get you through And rectify your battered self esteem. Shut the fuck up! I close the curtain Make sure no one can see Is there somebody out there Am I awake or asleep? Dogs are barking, The caravanserai Rolls on, through the night Bal-a-Versailles. Campbell lane Through the window, curtain rain Long night gone, yellow day Speed shivers melt away.
Once I smoked a Danneman cigar Drove a foreign car Baby that was years ago I left it all behind Had a friend, I heard she died On a needle she was crucified Baby that was years ago I left it all behind for my. Cheap wine and a three-day growth Cheap wine and a three-day growth Come-on, come-on, come-on.
Suffer little children Send that little child to me All day the doctor Handles his responsibility. Well some of us are driven to ambition Some of us are trapped behind the wheel Some of us will break away, and build a marble yesterday And live for every moment we can steal. Well Daskarzine, she was pretty bland As she stretched out in the corner of the room She was Oh! Her every move Is a lesson in street ballet And they speak her name in cheap hotels From Turkey to Marseillaise.
Now Chicken left the room feeling angry and cold Young Stetson looked reluctant and lame Daskarzine had him neatly pidgeonholed And he was just clinging blindly to his name. The morning breeze is off and gone The winding factory streets are clean Old ladies put the kettle on And all-night lechers pause and lean On grey shop windows, everywhere A deeper hum is in the air Hotel room, drifter leaves no clues.
You know times are tough in old S. Everybody wants to be a wannabe Living in a limousine Everybody wants to be a tragedy In a supermarket magazine. Everybody wants their name on the guest list Everybody wants to get in free Everybody wants complete fidelity From two or three lovers simultaneously. Everybody wants to be an individual Everybody else does too All I wanna be is idiot free And outta here with you. The Iditarod had been established for a decade by the time the first Quest mushers set out in The Iditarod has 23 checkpoints where mushers can pick up supplies, rest and defrost; the Quest has just nine.
Mushers set out with a sleeping bag, axe, snowshoes, food cooker, a bale of hay for dog beds and enough food to carry their team to the next checkpoint. Four of the mushers leaving Fairbanks on Feb. Out on the trail, the mushers look like spirits gliding silently out of the past, but every angle of the route jolts the lightweight, flexible frames of their sleds—a constant reminder that Mother Nature is in charge.
The runners slide greasily across the snow rather than carving into it, the feeling less like skiing than floundering across a rink with the skate guards still on your blades. The teams camp along the trail, running an average of six hours on and six off around the clock, but much of the downtime is taken up arranging straw beds for the dogs and feeding and watering them.
They range in size from 35 to 60 lb. Wilmshurst spends the first few legs of the race fretting over his dogs and their eating habits like a first-time father. He grew up in Peterborough, Ont. The Fairbanks-to-Whitehorse trail clobbers the mushers almost immediately with a pair of steep, 1,m peaks. When he sees a few teams resting at the base, he presses on.
He regrets it when he and his team are heaving for breath on the trail. They finally reach the summit, but mild temperatures and high winds have swept it clean, leaving nothing but angry rock to drag themselves across. A pair of 1, metre peaks greet racers of the Fairbanks-Whitehorse trail. Wilmshurst manages to cling to it as the dogs tear along, but when they grind to a halt, he looks up and sees his parka lying on the mountain behind him.
SN Magazine: Yukon Quest is hell frozen over
The only place to tie the dogs is a pathetic twig of a tree, so he hitches the team to it, hopes for a miracle and goes after his parka. Just as he reaches the sled, the tree snaps and the dogs careen down the slope. When he skids to a stop, everything somehow lands in a big pile. Everyone tells Wilmshurst to climb Eagle before dark, but he wants to rest and gambles on a nighttime crossing. Once he finds his groove on the trail, he pulls out his iPod, dangles the earphones over his shoulders like miniature speakers and cues up his hour Neil Young playlist.
As the temperature drops, a halo of fog hovers over his team. Wilmshurst is in heaven.
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Eagle Summit is the stone-faced bogeyman of the Quest, known as the hurricane-powered snow globe that forced five teams to be rescued by helicopter in As a kid growing up in a Chicago suburb, Neff obsessed over the Alaska he saw in books and movies. He took a summer job at an Alaska fishing cannery in college before finally moving to the Great Land permanently in Neff is a flamboyant personality with a keen sense of self-branding—he roared out of the Quest start chute brandishing an Alaska flag and wearing the red-and-white stovepipe hat of Dr.
The race featured some of the harshest conditions ever seen, and only 13 of 25 mushers made it to the finish. He and his team spent half a day battling with Eagle while high winds hurled snow and ice crystals at them. They were on their third attempt up the steep face when Geronimo, a three-year-old sled dog with a dapper black-and-white spotted coat, collapsed. Neff frantically attempted CPR, but by the time race officials reached them, Geronimo had died of asphyxiation as a result of vomit in his lungs.
He pulls out a photo of the dog and tucks it into one of the tripods that permanently mark the trail over the mountain, then says a prayer. His team is below the treeline on their descent from Eagle when they hit a patch of wet ice, slippery as greased glass. You hang onto the handlebar and go down with the ship. Pain bursts from the joint. When Ellis looks down, he can see his dislocated shoulder jutting out under his jacket.
Ignoring the searing pain, he pushes with his right arm and leans against the handlebar of his sled until his shoulder pops back into the socket. Every year, at least one person gets out safely only with the aid of his competitors. Last year, Schnuelle helped rescue Hans Gatt, the defending champion, and his team after they fell into waist-deep water that had seeped over shattered ice.
Gatt scratched from the race with second-degree frostbite and Schnuelle crossed the finish line in second place, 33 minutes behind the winner. Ellis drags himself into the next checkpoint in the late afternoon on Super Bowl Sunday. People offer to help feed and water his dogs, but he declines, hoping he can continue in the race. He pops some ibuprofen to dull the worst of the pain and then suffers the indignity of watching his Patriots lose in the fourth quarter. He finds Sue and they go to the race judge. Ellis scratched once before, in , after a series of freak injuries to his dogs.
That time, he knew it was the right thing for his team; this decision is so much harder. It exploded almost overnight from a tiny village into a roiling party for 40, wannabe millionaires, then contracted just as quickly when everyone blew town for the next gold discovery. The town is the midway point on the trail, and the mushers and their dogs will spend a mandatory hour rest here. The exhaustion of the trail is settling on him like a heavy blanket. Just after midnight on day five, a single headlamp dances into view in the inky darkness up the river valley from the town, and a small crowd gathers to wait under a curtain of Northern Lights.
Long minutes go by, and then Moore and his team appear on the trail above the river and glide toward the crowd. Neff reaches Dawson a full hour behind Mackey. All the teams arriving that night and over the next several days look the same: Wilmshurst is in 16th place when he reaches Dawson, but the hometown musher draws as big a crowd as the first arrivals.
After he and Atkinson have settled their dogs in the campsite where all the teams spend the layover, they head home and find a welcome gift in their driveway: Yuka Honda has participated in four quests. The layover passes quickly and the dog yard goes quiet with intense activity as the front-runners prepare to yank out their snow hooks and take on the second half of the trail. One by one, the teams head straight across the meringue whips of snow covering the frozen Yukon River, then turn sharply and run along the foot of the bluffs that surround Dawson.
From here, they face km of wild until the next checkpoint. Neff leaves Dawson more than an hour behind Moore, bent on catching him.