A mustang is a horse  
But also a car,  
With war-drums under the hood,  
It whinnies, it neighs,  
Hooves of rubber  
Galloping past traffic.

Now they’re electric,  
But they don’t make a sound,  
No whinnies, no neighs,  
Just glide like whispers  
Through the city streets,  
Kissing the night.