Road Trip through Croatia , December , 1982 .

Twelve hours non-stop across forgotten frontiers .
That echo with the hollow cries of people .
Trapped inside a life on the road of broken dreams .
This culture shocks , like ice drenched mountain water .
It closes eyes with frozen words .
On trembling lips too scared to speak .
A people preoccupied with just existing .
Unsure of voicing protest against action .
We head East , and further East .
Leaving Western memories blowing in a wind that runs untouched .
Yet marked by the slow passage of people in another time .
Whispers , that cross the crowded miles in silence .
Straight , fast and high , like the birds of freedom .
No shadows mark this land .
Memories drift like sand , across its face .
As we are watched with animal fear .

From Titograd our truck climbed the mountain ranges .
All the way to Pec , on the border of Albania .
Another sad , forgotten corner .
In this modern , caring world .
Sallow , haunted faces , watched us as we arrived .
Hoping for salvation .
But we had none of that .
We gave them food , we gave them everything we had .
And in their hands and in their eyes , I sensed the struggle .

Sunset turned the mountain sky a martyrs red .
Staining the life in this land where the people remain , unmoved .
Night brings no respite from hunger .
No shelter from the vicious cold .
In the distance there is light from hillside camp fires .
Winking in the deepening gloom .
The bonfires burn like the hopes of the people .
Who wait for tomorrow and what it might bring .

Early morning , bleak dawn .
Grey rain , and a blanket of mountain mist .
Covering this land in melancholy mourning .
We fire the truck up .
It stutters into life , then roars .
A cry for the cause in this land .
People stirred , and watched us as we prepared to go .
From their hillside , their country , their world .
Then we were gone .
Into the drifting mist .
Trucks heading East .