Beware the pale horse
Who rides at dawn
From the wells of sorrow
His gait was drawn
Across the plains of snow
Unto the barren field
Ceaseless can he be
He can't afford to yeild
The benifactor thus unknown
To fabricate our faith
Shall carry upon his back
All that has to wait
The still pond lies
Its whipers are obscene
The pale horse is comming
This you can believe
He's passed the ancient grove
Before we knew of love
He's rode across the meddows
And waded through the mud
With a weary head he watched
And kept the toll
With blind eyes of age
Barer of the soul
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 4:03 PM UTC
Beware the pale horse
Who rides at dawn
From the wells of sorrow
His gait was drawn
Across the plains of snow
Unto the barren field
Ceaseless can he be
He can't afford to yeild
The benifactor thus unknown
To fabricate our faith
Shall carry upon his back
All that has to wait
The still pond lies
Its whipers are obscene
The pale horse is comming
This you can believe
He's passed the ancient grove
Before we knew of love
He's rode across the meddows
And waded through the mud
With a weary head he watched
And kept the toll
With blind eyes of age
Barer of the soul
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