Two young horses dragging to St PetenWorn out tired, right herennAnd the night falls on this oceans' white hourn‘Cause you won’t be coming home to menAnd you said it sad and so playfullynI wish God would make things clearn‘Cause there’s no fight left in mennRelentlessly the sun is ignitingnWhile all these concrete boxes sit emptynOn these defeated Floridian streetsnI know you won’t be coming home to mennTwo young horses dragging to St PetenWorn out, tirednWorn out, tirednThere’s no fight left in me