A sore seat's pedal on a sweltering road
That only time ever passed through.
And us on the banter of flowering girls
And the anticipation of a rare dead horse.
No other lads had seen it,
But it was there-
Gripped in the frenzy of grass the dead horse lay.
It's raging eyes, stitched on the stillness of sun.
In torrent of flies, hell bent on the crackle of skin,