The Demon Race.

Chugging along the weather-beaten tracks,
The sun blinking through the gaps in the trees,
Sewing together all the old, nasty cracks,
As I weave through the warm evening breeze.

Right back to the beginning, they lead,
Behind me, vines streaming in the air,
Giving the evil exactly what it needs,
The winding tendrils mend, fix and repair.

Monsters creep up these battered train wheels,
Grumbling silhouettes, dancing in the dark.
Scratchy, rasping voices offer sinister deals,
Plotting ways to thwart me, should I disembark.

Within the remains, at the crumbling station,
Amongst the shadows, lay jagged shards of past.
Speeding down the line, escaping mental damnation;
It's a race against the demons and I hope I won't come last.