The Pale Horse
The Pale Horse
Death rides a Pale Horse,
or so it's been said
Though none know for certain,
except for the dead
The outdated metaphor
for post industrial age
This steed has been blindered
and placed in a cage
A mere horse could not carry
all the killing required
So the rider dismounted
and the ride is retired
There are no green paddocks
where he is put out to stud,
for the Pale Horse is sterile;
his seed is a dud
So he lives out his last days,
where he's feeling no pain
Death rides not a Pale Horse
No, I'm sure it's a train
His four legs still willing
to carry Death's charge,
but the saddle a burden
that's grown much too large
Death has a mission
that none shall impinge
If not on a Pale Horse
then by the syringe
Death will ride still,
for what the Pale Horse may lack,
is easily delivered
by a train on a track
So heed well, friend, at crossings
Again the refrain
Death rides not a Pale Horse
No, I'm sure it's a train
