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