Where she stops
Someone dies
Grandma keep a watchful eye

For on your deathbed as you lay
The Dullahan will come to play

Gifted with supernatural sight
You, she sees, in the dark of night
A whip of a human spine she does wield
From her, your soul I cannot shield

Head in hand, grey with decay
I pray to the gods—come what may
On her pitch-black steed she rides
Dressed in a gown stitched of human hides

Her decapitated head wears a Glasgow grin
Prepare for death when the Dullahan comes riding in

Member of the Unseelie Court
She’s the collector of souls; bodies amort
Although the protective curtain’s drawn
Grandma, you’ll be dead before the dawn

He rides his black steed through the countryside
and whenever he stops a mortal man dies.
He’s the Angel of Death and worthy of dread;
dressed all in black and lacking a head.
In his left hand is a spine that he’ll use as a whip.
In his right hand a scythe that will cut to the quick.
If you chance to observe him you may be struck blind
and still think yourself lucky that he left you behind.
If he pulls on the reins and he finds you outdoors
Your heart will stop dead and will beat nevermore.
There are buckets of blood where the Dullahan rides.
On all Hallows Eve you had best be inside.

He rides his black steed through the countryside
and whenever he stops a mortal man dies.
He’s the Angel of Death and worthy of dread;
dressed all in black and lacking a head.
In his left hand is a spine that he’ll use as a whip.
In his right hand a scythe that will cut to the quick.
If you chance to observe him you may be struck blind
and still think yourself lucky that he left you behind.
If he pulls on the reins and he finds you outdoors
Your heart will stop dead and will beat nevermore.
There are buckets of blood where the Dullahan rides.
On all Hallows Eve you had best be inside.