An ill-fated soldier, mad and merciless,
Every night when the moon hides its face from the world.
He comes through the forest,
Like a ghost from a bloody past.
They can hear the thunder from his devil horse's hard, cold hooves,
Pounding the soft forest floor.
And they shiver,
Wondering for whom the horseman has come.
The gleam of his blade never misses its strike
It burns, so cold and bright, to the glory of death.
A sword that only the souless may wield
But in a world such as this, there are no souls in the heat of battle.
Kill and kill and kill again, that was what the horseman was taught,
A soldier fights for blood and honor and causes with no meaning.
To never feel, they told him, was best of all,
All who fell deserved what they got.
In murder and chaos, in madness and death,
the horseman was forged by their very own hands.
A demon of war, whose laugh would chill,
He knows all too well,
That humanity make their demons themselves
And hide when they come.
For they know, they make their demons too well.
An ill-fated soldier, a mercenary paid in blood.
He comes from the forest,
From beyond the grave, to remind them
That evil springs from innocent hearts
And none are safe.
For there is no rest for the wicked.