Heavy darkness all around, In my footsteps, on the ground, My path is lined by threatening trees, Pale moonlight on my knees.
Push my muscles, Closer to home, Faster and faster, Into nights catacomb.
The hour strikes three, Quiet cold air creeps, This is when I escape; While the world sleeps.
An old one I wrote about going for a jog, I hate exercise but growing up I didn't have very many ways to get away from my dysfunctional home life so sometimes I would run or walk a short ways away and close my eyes and pretend I was somewhere else.