"Golden Age Of Leather" as written by and Roeser/abbott....
Raise your can of beer on high
And seal your fate forever
Our best years have past us by
The golden age of leather
This was the night not long to come in the year of our Lord A.D.
Where in a desert way-house, poised on the brink of eternity
Four and ninety studded horsemen closed the knot of honor
As only drunken soldiers can
And passed from man to man, a wanton child to dead to care
That each would find his pleasure as he might
For this fantastic night was billed as nothing less than the end of
An age
A last crusade, a final outrage, in this day of flaccid plumage
And there was worn no cloth but leather
Made supple by years of stinging cinders
And here were seen the scars of age
For age had been the common call for one last night together
Down colored the sky (the ritual feast)
Some had died (they were buried with their bikes)
Each grabbed a rag (from a man with a sack)
Torn strips of color (the red and the black)
We made a vow to give it all we had to give
We made a vow to die as we had lived
They flew the colors, they began to fight
They flailed at each other like bugs at a light
Bodies and bikes beyond repair
Smell of oil and gas in the air
Then the wind whipped the desert with a giant hand
And the humans and the Harleys caught the shifting sand
And the old ranger weathered the storm
And he topped the rise by the middle of morn
He saw rippled dunes, calm and surreal
And a glint of a shaft of chromium steel
Golden age
And seal your fate forever
Our best years have past us by
The golden age of leather
This was the night not long to come in the year of our Lord A.D.
Where in a desert way-house, poised on the brink of eternity
Four and ninety studded horsemen closed the knot of honor
As only drunken soldiers can
And passed from man to man, a wanton child to dead to care
That each would find his pleasure as he might
For this fantastic night was billed as nothing less than the end of
An age
A last crusade, a final outrage, in this day of flaccid plumage
And there was worn no cloth but leather
Made supple by years of stinging cinders
And here were seen the scars of age
For age had been the common call for one last night together
Down colored the sky (the ritual feast)
Some had died (they were buried with their bikes)
Each grabbed a rag (from a man with a sack)
Torn strips of color (the red and the black)
We made a vow to give it all we had to give
We made a vow to die as we had lived
They flew the colors, they began to fight
They flailed at each other like bugs at a light
Bodies and bikes beyond repair
Smell of oil and gas in the air
Then the wind whipped the desert with a giant hand
And the humans and the Harleys caught the shifting sand
And the old ranger weathered the storm
And he topped the rise by the middle of morn
He saw rippled dunes, calm and surreal
And a glint of a shaft of chromium steel
Golden age
Lyrics submitted by shut, edited by romefalls, kreniigh, GotReality
"Golden Age of Leather" as written by Donald Roeser B Abbott
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
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"And passed from man to man, a wanton child to dead to care
That each would find his pleasure as he might"
I find it difficult to explain or to attribute to any sort of hidden meaning.
This is an example of lyrics from the 1970s which are not quite socially acceptable anymore.
In the context of a girl or woman, wanton would mean slut. They had a teenage slut, likely on drugs and/or previously abused to the point that she was too dead to the world to care what was done with her, and they just passed her from one to the other doing what they liked with her.
I understand this lyric to describe one last night of unrestrained debauchery (a final outrage).
Awesome song, reminds me of my younger days. Makes me want to drive on back to my dad's house, break out my old harley from his garage, fix it, and ride. It'll never be the same again, but it'll still be fun.