Unfettered, I Run

Unfettered as I am to the poor play that life presents me, I run,
That in rolling I might not gather the moss of disillusionment.
Quick as I can, I live the cycles of birth, of learning, forgetting, dying and moving on.
What shall I do, O my Lord, when I come to that last blind alley,
And the strength of my limbs avail me no longer
To put one foot before the other?