(The horses prospective) Unable to speak – not even a word. If I were able, would they listen? No — For they are all deafened by pride. There is nowhere to hide. Trained not to flee, merely a fearless machine “It's my job.” they say — but they truly mean I have no choice, bent against my will, forbidden to feel. The angry mob charges, and I am driven forward — not by will, but by command. I don’t want to hurt them; I don’t want to be hurt. Why is this my life? — Why am I not in an open field running wild and free with my friends all around me? I don't understand – Why am I here?