I resurrected a dead horse.
Sent it back to the next life.
I muttered same things you've all heard before.
There is a sound from a small violin, detuned and wailing, hypnotizing but distant.
Admitted fault with a matching apology. Blind guilt with a curse of negativity.
The sour disposition, the eclipse of the sun. Where there is a will there's a way to turn it all sideways.
So count on me to play the role of the thorn.
The leader of the dirt.
Resurrecting a dead horse.
Sending it back to the next life.
Muttering the same things you've all heard before.
