Riders of the Apocalypse

Famine's horse is black

Fallow ground 'neath his track

From the sky it rains hail

Lack of food from his tipping scale

Conquest he is the antichrist

Riding a steed of white

Striking with militant drones

Killing souls from his mighty bow

War he rides on red

With a sword he takes your head

Contempt of life

Creating chaos and strife

And behold there come four chariots from between two mountains

Famine, Conquest, War and Death

Death's stallion is pale

Standing on top the hill

Ancient ways now restored

Unlock the demon horde