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
