Pushed to past endurance in this insane human race,
	we are running out of focus.
And we see the world passing by at such a pace
	that all things lose their locus.

Yet faster still, trying desperately to keep our place,
	till the sickening speed begins to choke us.
So we drown our miseries and escape to leave no trace,
	into a world of hocus.

No time to turn around!
	No time to look behind,
and help a staggering straggler up off the ground.
	No time to be compassionate or kind!

We mustn't lose our edge,
	fearing appearing slack.
Between our fellows and our selves we must drive a wedge,
	take the lead, then never again look back!

We must never stop competing -
	be as viciously unrelenting as the ram.
Apart from the race's occasional heated fleeting meeting,
	we must shut ourselves in like a clam.

Alakazam! We scram into our private world of sham.

Hocus pocus! We have run out of.