This broken compass guides to me a field of reeds.
I keep a file by my side so my horns will recede.
My herds gone they’ve left a long time ago. They’re waiting for me in a place with no sorrow.
I carry broken shackles on my feet from when I was set free.
With every clank it makes I’m revitalized abundantly.
My hairs grown long and my hooves worn dull.
I set my place of rest in the bright meadow.