There’s nowhere left to run.
What’s someone born to a race of runaways to do
when their legs have been cut from under them?
Victory was never ours, and to have thought it would be
was the start of our downfall.  
This is the world nearing its finish. (galactic reset)
Hand us the knives we’ll slit our own throats, give us the stones and we’ll smash our heads in ourselves.