Four Captive Robots

"When I see cars flying,
Civilisation dying
And all of my friends lost out to sea
Still, I'm still
Dreaming of you dreaming of me.

All of them chasing
Me down through the basin
Where the river has dried I believe.
Still, I'm still
Dreaming of you dreaming of me.

All these strange unlikely sights
Which stalk my mind throughout each night
Can bend and twist the world around
So sound is vision and vision, sound
And colours blend and morph in time
And I wonder if they're only mine
And all of a sudden I shudder, then breathe.
Still, I'm still
Dreaming of you dreaming of me."

Boris really does have a wonderful voice. He followed the song on the radio note perfect, his baritone complimenting the husky female voice crackling from the car's speakers. Work hardened hands thudded on the steering wheel in a beat offset against the lady's sharp clap. With each impact the dashboard dimmed.

Leaving the hotel at midnight had been a struggle but after a brief struggle with the tuner the hours had flown by as the old car swallowed the miles north. When he wasn't familiar with the song he quickly found a melody and harmonised with whatever piqued his fancy; sometimes the vocal but sometimes a lonesome saxophone or a strolling bass.

Only once did he click the radio silent, when blue flashes in the rear view mirror announced the approach of the emergency services. His eyes remained fixed on the road ahead as the ambulance passed, but his left hand clutched the shotgun.