A world without the hooves of the pale horse; and it’s merciless rider, Death,
is one hard to imagine.
A day without his wanton hands,
possessing souls by the masses.
A day without scalding grievance;
open wounds, from the loss of the loved.
A day without the power and sting
of death. One refuting decay, yielding endless breath.
The third day,
overpowers the pangs of death.