In a land where the cracked earth does not change
It should have seemed, but wasn’t strange
I saw four horsemen on the trail
White horse, red, black, then pale

The fires that blaze, the ills that rage
The hungry stumble, the dead unraised
They sweep the land on mounted steeds
Cheered by the dull who praise their deeds

In shadows deep, where hope's light fades
Thunder sounds on desolate plains
No mercy shown, no quarter spared
The road trod by the wounded, the scared

Through valleys dark, the whisper’s veil
They ride relentless while our hearts fail
With each footfall, despair unfolds
Where darkness reigns and hope won’t hold.