Running

Feet scraping the cold ground,

Wind howling in a strained voice,

Yet the stranger contuines to go

Running from a land behind,

Running from a long dead life

Running from whispers in the night

Running from the whispers in their mind

Who are we to tell

Who are we to know?

Why do they run?

Why do they hide?

What does it mean, any of it?

The story of another person passing along

It is such a strange thing to see

To see the ways the gears turn

As a result of things long passed

As a result of people long since gone

Caring souls, bitter words

Horrid beasts, twisted feet

Seeing while blinded

But that is the thing, the stranger is not alone

No matter what we say, we all know the road

We all know where they are going

For we are traveling the same way

We are set on the same path

We may take different roads

But it is always the same end

So that's the thing I wonder

If this is all we'll know

Why do we contuine to run?

It seems so useless, because you see

It seems we are running from time

It seems like we can escape

But with every foot pressed in the dirt

For every inch advanced forth

Time ticks by

Without a thought for what we want

Never minding those left behind

Never minding those that run

But that is the answer all the same

Time doesn't mind us, it merely exists

And so, we shouldn't mind it as critically

Just contuine on your way

For I shall see you still

When we hit the end of our roads

But know this, take a moment to enjoy the view

As we go, take a moment to enjoy the show.