- cifra   
  
      
   My lovely horse, running through the field
 
 Where are you going, with your fetlocks blowing in the wind? 
 
  
  I want to shower you with sugar lumps, and ride you over fences
 
 Polish your hooves every single day, and bring you to the horse dentist 
  
 
 My lovely horse, you're a pony no more
 
 Running around with a man on your back, like a train in the night...