Staring at the endless plains,
the man in black looked on.
His face was washed in faded red,
from the new horizon's dawn.
"It's gaining on me," he smiled,
a touch of sadness in his eye.
And with a vengeful speed,
the sun rose higher in the sky.
The reaper stood awaiting,
To collect the lost man's soul.
But the man had since decided,
he would not pay the toll.
"You'll die by the time the sun has set,"
the doctors all had declared.
But there he stood, a year since then,
and towards his death he stared.
At last the man had turned his back,
"So it's a race you want?"
He would play the bait,
and the sun would play the hunt.
He left the sun behind him,
he much preferred the night.
And so he walked forever,
his image drifting out of sight.