There were two crazy men, the one with the whip and the one with the huge 
	mustache: they were dancing together, no, they were fighting
When the eyes of the whipless one brightened: sometimes that happens when 
	you bite someone, or when you're fucking: people become disturbed
When horses fuck: to them, I think, it's like mountains fucking: things 
	that big ought to keep it to themselves. The idiot man with the whip
Tore his hand away then, and hit me with the little crop—you think that hurt? 
	I'm a horse!—but the other man began dancing again, mustache
Covered with foam—what was that? had he run too far?—and he was muttering 
	in that barbaric way humans have, sounds like Bismarck and German
And even the man with the whip was becoming frightened, or awestruck, 
	or maybe he looked like that because he was hungry, it's hard to tell
About humans, and I was losing interest anyway, a hay wagon was passing, 
	it was much less boring than the weeping man with his arms
Around my neck suddenly, or the moron with the whip—if he'd been a horse, 
	he'd have died at birth—moaning God, and the other suddenly
Laughing like a jackal and saying Fool, you have no notion who you're talking to.