It sounds like thunder far away, but the skies are blue and bright...
And soon they crest the hill nearby, and ride into our sight.
They shake the ground with powerful sound, and they make some hearts beat fast...
They look so proud and noble, like Knights come from the past.

Side by side, they always ride, and seem to move as one...
From early in the morning light, to the setting of the sun.
And children point and wave to them, from cars that pass them by...
And young ones ask their parents, why the men have mirrors for eyes.

They ride the roads, and fight for good, and defend small ones like you...
They ask to ride, and do with pride, and sometimes they are few.
Like men of steel, on silver wheels, they sparkle in the light...
then with a roar and rumble, they ride out of our sight.

Sometimes when one has fallen, never to ride again...
You can hear the others calling, like thunder on the wind.
Side by side, they slowly ride, and their thunder is a mournful sound...
And the mirrors hide their eyes from us, when teardrops fall to ground.

So if you see one riding, and you look into his face...
You see your reflection in his eyes, you know that you are safe.
For motormen are a special breed, they love to ride the wind...
And when you hear the thunder boom, the fallen ones ride again.

Ron Walker October 25, 1998

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