So deep is solitude in two glasses of wine,
a red horse and a white horse, being there alone.
Nothing is in truth, as it seems to be,
You have everything, but none to share it with.
In a while it will pour down, and the doors will shut,
who entered, entered, no one will come behind.
Two glasses of wine, a black horse deep in the jug,
I have everything, but who to share it with?