Ride the horse into the ground, beat it with your crop.
Drive him deep into the sand, until he finely drops.
The massive beast lye panting; all lathered and nostrils flared.
His heavy chest expanding then collapsed from lack of air.
But you poked and kick the gentle beast, just wanting one last ride.
As he stood, you jumped his back; he tried to take a stride.
His eyes rolled back, his legs gave way, he had no more to give.
He fell again and that was it, the beast no longer lived.
Not content with what you got, still you wanted more.
You poked and beat him with your crop until his flesh was tore.
Day’s went by and time had passed, the corps lay in the sun.
You never left, you were determined, to beat him tell he’d run.
Riders pass the solemn sight and swear that they can see;
You standing there, still beating, a lifeless bloody steed.
Don't beat a dead horse!