It is Henry,the horse, taking me but of course on the madnesses of the  white light,
out of sight and my mind and my eyes underlined with the redness of deadness,
I am ready to go,
In the ******* where girls rub their bodies up tight and bite on the hands that feed them,
I'm gone of course,riding the pale white horse,bucking the trend and wondering if, and if when it will end,
someone tends to the jailer who,on his horse looks much paler than me.
if this is free then I am chained and I have gained nothing at all,
watch me fall,watch me die,watch me breathe again and try to believe again.

Henry is always there
out in the background where
the devil sits high,
watching me try,
madness of course and Henry,
will be
the end or the
beginning of me.