Running through little green fields,
sky so blue, flowers so white,
edge of the world blurring behind blue eyes,
unrecognizable in her sight.
Mr. Sun, golden yellow joy,
tis just a simple mockery of her pain.
Running away fast, fast, fast,
people call out, but they don't know her name.
To them, she's just another face.
The air on her tongue tastes too sweet.
Running hard, but far too slow,
moss and grass too soft on her feet.
Pump pump, her legs, her heart.
Oxygen flows from head to toes.
Running from reality and the lies,
why she's running: only she knows.
Tall grasses swish around bare legs,
cutting little tracks, trophy memorabilia.
Running under the ironic blue sky,
running from pain, death...paranoia.
