The Race

Racing, racing, racing, racing,
all the time we’re racing.
All of life is passing by
and yet we still race time.
Racing to the finish line
we say “This time, it’s mine.”
yet no one ever cares to see
the track as we pass by,
the stands, who heard us cry,
the fans, who dread the phrase “Goodbye.”
Our fans who helped us stand
when life was hard to try.
Racing, racing, racing, racing,
all our lives we’re racing.
Racing to the end of time.
The time of peace and happiness,
the time we think will make it all alright.
No rolling starts or gentle stops
when goals are on the line.
Working all through days and nights,
squeezing tight for just a little limelight.
To truly breathe and live our lives
the racing must subside,
a shift of focus and sharp decline
of the racing that’s inside.
The race against the clock that ticks
towards graves engraved by the life you missed.