Some will say the horses are all dead
Each horse dead in its tracks
Their insides filled with black tar
Bloated bellies filled with your teeth
Exiled son
Your neck in blood
The colour of maggots under your bed
Knees bent in and skin unwrapped
Stake in each eye a symbol of self-hate
If you leave now this day will pass
Stories by the fire light
Will make his flesh creep
An idiot for a son that shudders in fear
Abandoned for murders in haste
Churchyards draw him near
A sexton comes on pillars of white
Dead from falls in churchyard streets
Waiting the wife will weep
Cast out at the dawn of day
Do not speak of your father
You are unwanted
And you should die
Do not speak of your future
You will have none
And you should die
Only sleep under the trees hanging with the youth
Soon your neck will bleed
Steal the bottom of their soles
