We run across the tracks,
A horde of desperate children.
Our tears are raked off our cheeks
By the wind that slams into our faces.

Crouching, cowering, gritting our teeth,
A fruitless attempt to make ourselves smaller,
To dodge the never-ending stream
Of lead teeth that eat into our flesh.

Gripping the clammy fingers
Of our only hope,
Until they are pummelled into the floor,
And we leave them behind.

We live to impress,
We walk a tightrope every day.
God help you if you fall,
Because you are on your own.

They’ll only hold your hand
If there is something in it.
They don’t love you,
So just keep running.

Running, running,
Stretch out your fingers,
To the other side.
Because when you fail…

Well at least you can say
one part of you made it…
Right?