Soul Rider

Grim rides a pale horse with a twinkle in one eye.
The sun beats down from a lonely desert hot sky.
Sweat is dripping off his brow as he lets out a sigh.
A rattlesnake slithers but his horse just rides on by.

A dusty ride but Grim knows his way; Its his trail.
He rides in desolation; He knows he must not fail.
This appointed time; His message is a type of mail.
He is one of four riders; Dried bones, a type of hell.

"Why me?" He asks but under his breath real low.
"Why do I have to be the chaser of departed soul?"
The land of dried bones echoes as the sand blows.
He can hear the lonely sound for whom the bell tolls.

Ashes and sand but he can remember being a man.
But it was long ago; He can barely remember human.
He rides through the night and day; It isn't grand.
There is never any sleep but nobody understands.

The crow perches on his shoulder then flies away.
He smiles at it for he, too is just a creature of prey.
His horse ninnies and he knows that he can't stay.
He hopes someday that it won't have to be this way.