Runaway

I'm here.

I'm here, in my bed at home.

I'm here in my bed at home, but I'm there.

Laying on the asphalt.

Bright headlights fade away.

Speeding off, in which direction I can't say.

I'm here.

I'm here in my bed at home.

I'm here, in my bed at home, but I'm there again.

Screaming for help.

"Please! Someone get them!"

I cried for hours on end.

Haunted by a trauma that won't seem to end.

I'm here.

I'm here in my bed at home.

It's quiet but I can hear the voices echo.

Telling them to "Go,go,go!"

I was drug thirty eight feet.

Yet I can still feel that asphalt beneath my feet.

My sock covered feet.

I feel the tires crushing me.

It was all so fast but it's agonizing and slow for me.

I'm here.

I'm here at home.

I'm here at home in my bed.

I'm lucky I'm not dead.