When I was a stallion of only three,

The rotted stallion came for me.

Late one night, from my open door,

He slowly crept across the floor.

—

He took me by the hoof and said,

“I’ll save you from this life of dread.”

We left the house in the early  morn’,

And took his carriage of black and thorn.

—

We rode for hours, through thick dense fog,

To a darkened, unlit black swamp bog.

With topless trees and hanging moss,

Were safe shields from the bitter frost.

—

The thick, dense heat and the cool, crisp air

Crept up your back and through your hair.

He took me to his house of bones,

On a path laid with cobblestones.

—

Upon his door up on the head

Of a foal with hair of fiery red.

His hall was big and bathed with blood red tile,

The walls were stacks of flesh in piles.

—

He told me of his protective feel,

And begged that I should join him too.

He smiled and through his rotted lips

I saw a thousand dark whips.

—

He promised me the world would pay

And told me that I could stay.

Then we entered a smaller room,

And the rotted stallion gave me a red balloon.

—

Then I saw my mom through a tinted glass.

The stallion with her was talking fast.

The tears were pouring from her eyes,

The stallion then held her while she cried.

—

Then the rotted stallion did the strangest thing,

He sat down with me and began to sing.

A soft nice tune that filled my head,

Left with thoughts of puppies and fresh baked bread.

—

It was then I noticed the rotted stallion,

Was simply old and had a tan.

And then my mom burst in the room,

Filling it with warmth, and sweet perfume.

—

She hugged me tight and swore to me,

From here on out dad would let us be.

No more bruises, no more fights,

No more screaming in the night.

—

The rotted stallion had saved our lives,

By taking those who beat their wives.

The foals that cry when they’re dropped,

And are beaten senseless until they stop.

—

There are real horrors on this earth

Some are subjected to them at birth.

And they are saved by the stallion of rot,

I was lucky but many are not.

—

But this is how I dreamt my life,

When father came with the kitchen knife,

I thought that I would be set free,

A lonely foal he would leave be.

—

I thought a stallion could save me too,

Take me away all black and blue,

But life is not a happy end,

And as a foal without a friend.

—

My father crushed my tiny lungs,

To me his words he spoke in tongues,

For I had no sin to give,

Just a foal too young to live,

—

And when I died my final thought,

Was I wish I was saved, by a stallion made of rot.