All but alone, they circle.
Their numbers have been subtracted.
The existance of their master
It seems, has now contracted.
Their purposes unclear,
Their lives drained of use,
They now pace round and round
In a rut shaped like a noose.
They once used to gleam,
They once even shone.
Their greatest moment, now,
Is disposing of the bones.
At one time they toiled,
Their power never-ceasing
But now their joints sound
Like they need a good greasing
Their time is coming,
These days, coming faster,
Until the day they'll meet
Once again with their master.