INTRO    The disc brakes dragthe chequered flag     sweeps across the oil-slick track.     The young man’s home; dry as a bone.     His helmet off he waves: the crowd waves back.   One lap victory roll.  Gladiator soul.   The taker of the day in winning has to say   Isn’t it grand to be playing to the stand   dead or alive.   Isn’t it grand to be playing to the stand   dead or alive.   rest the same   The sunlight streaks through the curtain cracks   touches the old man where he sleeps.   The nurse brings up a cup of tea ---   two biscuits and the morning paper mystery.   The hard road’s end the white god’s-send   is nearer everyday in dying the old man says   Isn’t it grand to be playing to the stand   dead or alive.   The still-born child can’t feel the rain   as the chequered flag falls once again.   The deaf composer completes his final score.   He’ll never hear the sweet encore.   The chequered flag the bull’s red rag   the lemming-hearted hordes   running ever faster to the shore singing   Isn’t it grand to be playing to the stand   dead or alive.