PALE RIDER
He hides in every mirror
Waits in every shadow
Sharpening his long thin knife
By the light of a dwindling candle
And when he hears the beat
Of a drum slowing to a crawl
He knows his time is near
To open the door to the night
For he is the hooded stranger
With a key for every lock
Be it the mansion of a mogul
Or the shack of a penniless wretch
But sometimes he wishes his mission
That brings forth wails and tears
Held a purpose with a brighter meaning
That his maker has not revealed
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