He shouted at the void;
He ran until he ran out of breath,
And he'd bang his fist against the soil;
He always cried; no one would see him.

He cried in the darkness,
Where everyone else are at home,
Sleeping, being caressed;
And here he is, with a color of chrome.

He ran, and ran, and ran,
Until he passes out,
His feet aching
but he will still run.

And then, he will stop
Running,
Crying,
But he will always be a void.