There were at least six of me on the beach this morning
All strung out in a line
I'm sure it looked so strange to passerbys
Normally I'm running towards something
Like discipline, or others I lack
Puffing from access, to the very end, and back
But today I was running away, from the five committed to stay
So with me in the back, and me in every place all the way to six
We chased
The first to quit was me
Even larger than now
All that food he can't seem to quit indulging in slowing him down
The second to quit was me again
The nihilistic cur
After all, what's the point in running when there's no point to the world
Number three to drop was me, unexpectedly, without making a sound
Normally I would be turning women to objects
But today I couldn't be found
The last to fall, was the youngest of all
Myself, barefoot and naive
When I saw me behind me, I ran through the shells and his little bare feet had to bleed
And what about number five?
If the other four are out
You see five, normally right behind, is often crippling doubt
Now number six in stride, I thought I had left myself behind
But waiting at the end of the line was five with all my friends
Not only had I beat me, but I had caught a first and third and fourth and second wind