Ride of the Apocalypse

On the breath of our last hour,

Ride the four horsemen in all their power.

Blood of War dyes his steed red,

Thunderous hooves pound those with dread.

Blackened like the starved earth below,

Astride his horse doth Famine bellow.

Running rampant Pestilence takes its great glee,

In the hooves of his white horse trampling those who flee.

And following behind in the path of their mayhem,

Death rides his ghostly mount gathering the souls left behind them.

On the breath of our last hour,

Ride the four horsemen in all their power.

As each horseman rides his path:

War reigning in his vicious blood bath;

Famine draining the land's life dry;

Pestilence preying on those who just won't die;

And Death leading Hades to take what's left behind.

When there's no place left to hide;

When nothing lies untouched nor anything unscathed;

In this one final time, that nothing can be saved,

Life rides across the land upon a golden mare,

Bringing Hope in the midst of the despair.