The Sorrow of Horses

All of it is gone.

The horses made it to the water,

the mare cries for the martyrs

that were once his own.

It is really the end.

You’re fighting a shadow of brothers.

There’s a lonely prayer

it’s broken and it’s bare.

Open the windows

and unlock all the doors;

there’s nothing left anymore.

This isn’t your home.

All of these horses

that call from the broken oceans.

Put on their armour

and go out all alone.

You can’t pretend;

nothing’s alright anymore,

the mare’s scratching at the door.

He wants to get out.

And all of these dreams;

the hopefulness and sorrow,

pressed on another tomorrow.

But will it be?

Your frozen thunder keeps hopes of the horses encompassing bliss.

What could it mean? Some cryptic progression to your private apocalypse.