Every strike, every blow, all that symbolises pain
She fights alongside them, in the cold autumn rain
She has something special, very special: in mind for you
That will leave you crumbling, picking up your residue
For everything you've made her feel: do you think any good of the 'me? '
Or do you hope there is something, knowing you don't believe?
There is always hope, and with that, a cost
To have returned what you gave away or purposely lost
She'll bring you down, and that, you know
So why don't you run and go?
This really isn't a wild goose chase
This is run, your life's race