Young brute knowing danger,
steps out o' shadowed
dusk.
Usually proud crown hangs low,
in self disgust.
Sighs wrack young beau's body,
with sadness and anger,
as he 'proaches massive brute
sire to the only one he could
love.
Young orphaned steed stands 'fore he,
and words struggle to rise
from suppressed lungs.
M'lord,
I beg o' thee,
please strike me dead,
'pon this spot,
for de' love o' all those I know,
has been lost.
I sought de' loving gaze o' thy
daughter,
and at one point found it,
but alas 'tis been lost
once more.
I lost de' love o' my mother,
and yay,
also my foster mother.
My sister o' like heritage has been
unseen for long,
and now I have yet no life to live.
Please m'lord.
I beg thee to strike me with thy worthy
pistons,
and let my life be ended for the
love o' thy daughter.
Beau hangs his head,
and waits for de' blow.
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