Black and white and you know what you have in front of you; it’s not a horse and you already know that.
It does not lie to you and it does not try to be what it is not; between the black lines are white lines and between the white lines are black lines.
There they are in front of you; it looks like a horse, it runs like a horse and it lives in herds like a horse.
Yet it is not a horse; it does not lie to you, you see the truth it’s there in front of you it does not hide facts.
Here I am in front of you; you see my white lies and you see the black of my demise.
I do not travel in herds; I can do all my miss leadings on my own.
So as you can see there are fine lines to read between just the printings on the wall to tell you that it is all over.
Like tattooed zebras we slurry our lies on our skin and strut as no one knows nothing about them.
But deep in the heart of even a beast we know our faults and our wrongs; going to the grave with them l…