Am running from my torment,
Am running from this antagonistical baggage.
Am running from a beaten which seems to be sweaten with revenge.
My prudence as my defence.
The inequity of man lies on my back.
Am under attack.
Am running from the pain, the strain, the backlash that push me up and whipped me like a a slave. Am not that brave I rather go six feet under in my grave.
A running from a war of pain. It must be my mind but its so unkind. Me! Little me, rubbing my belly from month to month and its not a stunt.
Am running from chastisement, running from hate. The pain I endure it must be my date. It wrap me up and cover me like in my life it will forever be.