All the ponies must die for the horses to take their strides,
And O’ won’t those horses run wild and high,
With wings they would take strides over the seas and shrines,
And one day people will sing of them, in fairytales they would ride,
Locked once again these people with ponies will come to life,
They will worship the horses and care not for their strides,
But as the stories go a horse is a horse and it must take its flight,
What would the world be if it stayed and wept in those eyes?
Would the world be a better place if he wore a hat and die?
Nay, the horse be a horse, the pony be a pony, live they their own lives,
But wouldn’t the world be a better place if all those ponies die?
Better come the stories away from those fictitious lies,
Butterflies and fairies are the death of my Christ,
Run you horses, run you high and wild,
And kill those ponies as you take your stride.