Stable Song

Time for the final bow.
Rows of deserted houses:
all our stable mates are highway bound.
Gve us our measly sum:
Getting the air inside my lungs is heavenly.
We're starting out
with nothing but crippling doubt.
We'll rest easy (justified).
I've suffered a swift defeat,
i'll endure countless repeats.
The gift of memory is an awful curse.
With age it just gets much worse,
but I won't mind.