| Love the run but not the race | |
| All alone in a silent way | |
| World drifts in an' and the world's a stranger | |
| In a light, eclipsed and alienated | |
| In a time, occupied and invaded | |
| Can't tell what's right, better hit the ground runnin' | |
| In the hills where the tall weed grows | |
| Hands are tied and won't let go | |
| Can't escape this place without leavin' the world behind | |
| In a light, ashamed and humiliated | |
| In a time sacrificed, for the sake of trade | |
| Mmm the soul is bent an' feels the weight of truth, fallin' through | |
| Or left behind no choice | |
| But to run to the mountains | |
| Where no poppies grow, you have to hit the ground runnin' | |
| Hit the ground | |
| In a light, paralyzed and spirits fading | |
| Out of time, must decide to fall or run | |
| Into the eye, of the storm no sign or omen | |
| Make it right, or fall to the other side | |
| Where fields are burnin' | |
| From the day you're born you'll always hit the ground runnin' | |
| Hit the ground runnin' | |
| Hit the ground runnin' |
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