I run, but to run differently I´m fated
Over rocks, and puddles, and the dew.
They say "he´s a pacer, different-gaited"
That means, runs differently than others do.

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 

But by my rider I am always spurred
As he beats me with his heels again.
I would gladly gallop in the herd
But not under saddle, without rein.

Today I’m in the starting gate for racing -
I’m the favourite again, I see.
Everyone puts their bets on the pacer
But not I, my jockey gasps on me.

A master of riding, he is called,
And the stands all clap for him again.
I would gladly gallop in the herd
But not under saddle, without rein.

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 

No, the prizes won’t be gold and dashing:
I intend to cross the finish last.
I’ll remind my rider of that lashing -
I will balk when he wants to go fast!

 
 
 
 

What am I doing? How do I dare?
I assist my enemy at his worst
But my heart for my head doesn’t care
And won’t let me come any place but first.

What, then, is there to be done?
Pitch my rider from me, neighing grim,
And as if in the herd, here I will run
Under saddle, with rein - but without him!

I came in, and in the back he’s waiting
Plodding over puddles and the dew...
For the first time, I wasn’t different-gaited -
I wanted to win, like they all do!