The wind blows red dust through the spineless scrub,
Far from the shed and the grease-stained club.
The spanners are cold and the lift sits bare,
While we wonder, mate, if you’re still out there.
The Lotus forum has a quiet space,
Where we miss your text and your helpful face.
No spark in the thread, no quick reply,
Just the empty stretch of an Outback sky.
Did you find a track where the Elan could race?
Through the salt-flat plains at a blinding pace?
Did the twin-cam roar scare the roos away,
In the blinding heat of a summer day?
The oil is checked and the fuel is high,
We’re watching the road where the eagles fly.
So drop us a line through the bull-dust haze,
We’ve been counting the miles, we’ve been counting the days.
Wherever you’re parked by the campfire light,
Underneath the stars of the southern night,
Keep the shiny side up and the rubber below,
Come back to the garage, 2cams70.