by John I Nash

THERE is only death here of the near and dear, lets run from here, this place is nowhere to be near. Put this place this space away from my face. I do not fear it but do not want it near. I do not want to watch it, blindfold me as though I was against the wall so that I do not see it at all. Nothing will stop its march against the innocent, matters not who or what, men, woman, child or dog, it takes them all.

Let's flee this place before it can strike with its cold embrace. Save us one and all, let's run from this place.

I see a dark cloud coming, that no storm cellar will let us prevail. Let's run from this that follows at a relentless pace. It comes to near, let's run from here.

Shouting nor prayer does dissuade the pursuer as yet it comes closer. Let's run from this place with great haste. I do not want to taste its bitterness, nor let it poison my soul. Before we can not at all, let's run from this place this space this time once and for all.

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