It Burns the soul, It hurts to know The faceless one, of shadowless soul A haunting to be, appears from nothing A harvest of death, towards lifeless form
And the Pale Horse Knocking at the door
We failed to see What darkness brings Afraid of what we refuse to be The hand of cold, a story to be told To face the gates of endless days
And the pale horse Knocking at the door
We, Seal, the pale horse Haunting the tales of death