run

They put the boot in when you are down

They know just where to kick

And it hurts so much more.

Give me a truck on a busy city street.

It’d be so quick

A couple of tons at speed to smash me into darkness.

It’s the slow death

Of a thousand pointless conversations

Of being stuck somewhere you don’t want to be,

Of being in a job for thirty years

And waking up too late to find

The hundred thousand cuts have finally led to your death

That is most painful.

Throw open the window

Climb out and run.

They might say you’re strange

But they didn’t love you to start with.

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