Two little foals circle the grounds
Confused as to which way to go
Rains coming down in bucketing rounds
Wicked winds rampage and blow

Round and around in the grips of confusion
Scampering ungodly hills of delusion
Bounding in manic protrusions of fear
So many nearby–but nobody deer
to help it all make any sense

Soaked to the bone
Tired. Alone
All that they want is to find a way home
But all the world reers with affence