Hawkwind

In the back of my neck I can feel a strange sensation
Feels like I'm heading for the crisis of all creation
Only those with death wish understand my situation
Feels like Jesus Christ heading for the stations
of the cross, in my death trap, death trap
Running in my death trap, death trap
Chicken running in my death trap, death trap
Heading for the crossroads of fiery crucifixion
Lighting up the night sky with bitterness distinction
While I hold the wheel of fate, smell of burning friction
I feel like a hero heading for extinction
It's the shell of steel or plastic
Monkey on elastic, going up and down