I think that I shall never see
A treadmill that is fit for me.

For when I walk (it seems insane),

But in the same place I remain.

A bit like life that’s fast or slow;

But, in the end, where did we go?

We walk and work and sometimes run;

But, in the end, what have we done?

No purpose, but such busy days –

Busy in a thousand ways.

Yet at the end you’re empty still,

And then you’re handed one last bill.

There is a way to change it all

And gain some ground before you fall . . .

For life that’s full and treadmill-free,