One dark and windy morn, just before the sun was born,
I stood silently staring at the long and lonely track.
The straights were black, the curves seemed to stare back,
With a hate that made you never want to start.
Reluctantly, I step up to the line, alongside those with hopes
much lighter than mine.
The gun rises, and starts with a growl,
louder than a lion when it eats something foul.
The other are like ghosts; they are flying by,
Ooing and booing me not even to try.
I hear steps pounding behind me, they won't let me be. They get
closer with each pained breath. This seems harder than facing Death.
I can feel the hot breath forming sweat on my neck,
And I feel like letting them catch me with every passing sec.
One foot in front of the other, I can't think through all this noise
Just one foot after another, I'm being played with like a toy.
I can see the end is near, so I give it all I've got.
Am I wearing lead shoes? I'm trying to hide my weak spot.
My stomach turns in knots, my legs scream "NO MORE!"
My mind is frantically searching for an exit door.
Finally it's over and I smell the sweet clovers
As I fall into a mound.
They have now caught me, but not fast enough,
I am a Runner, A Winner, An Escapee.
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