The Runner

He was living his life in a fog

Oblivion's welcoming arms

His view of society marred

No perception of forces at large

Quite the misfit and always on guard

In his mind rang a silent alarm

And so lays the ground of a future that waits

When you feel like you ain't where you are

Out of control his compulsion to flee

Absent of value as best he could see

As from within so without unto thee

Knew he'd strike out on his own eventually