Yellow Rider

Now the villager’s are waking from the dreams inside their heads, They’re locking doors and windows, and they’re hiding in their beds; It’s a yellow rainy morning with a mist across the sun… You can hear the hoof beats coming, terrifying everyone. It’s a legend sprung to life, and it’s a horror story true, You listen in the silence and you know you hear it too, And the sound is getting closer till it’s beating in your bones, And it’s hammering and clattering upon the cobblestones. Yellow Rider coming Through the early light of day, Hear the hoof beats drumming… Too late for you to pray. And the Rider’s coming closer still you stay inside your room, You’re looking at his saddle, and his giant hat and plume, But you cannot see his face because it’s hidden by the brim, Still you recognize his saddle so you know it must be him. For it’s silver-mounted leather from a Gypsy caravan, His uniform is yellow silk imported from Japan, And his sword is Spanish-crafted, and his pistol made in France… And there’s nobody escaping, everybody’s had his chance. Yellow Rider coming Like a bandit through the rain, Hear the hoof beats drumming… Till they echo in your brain. Now the Rider is departing just as swiftly as he came, He’s taking someone with him and I will not tell his name, But it’s either you or me or maybe someone else we know… Now the Yellow Rider’s leaving as the sun begins to show. And the people are appearing at their windows and their doors, The merchants all are opening their markets and their stores, And the villages will make believe he never came at all… But away out on the high road you can hear his mournful call… Yellow Rider going, And he’s taking someone new, Someone we’re both knowing, Is it me or you? Is it me or you?