Yellow Rider

Now the villagers 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 hear the hoofbeats 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,
It's hammering and clattering upon the cobblestones.

Yellow Rider coming
Through the early light of day,
Hear the hoofbeats drumming--
Too late for you to pray.

And the Rider's coming closer, still you stay inside your room,
You're looking at his stallion. and his giant hat and plume,
You cannot see his face because it's hidden by the brim--
You recognize his saddle so you know it must be him.

It's silver-mounted leather from a Gypsy caravan,
His uniform is yellow silk imported from Japan,
His sword is Spanish-crafted, and his pistol made in France--
There's nobody escaping, everybody's had his chance.

Yellow Rider coming
Like a bandit through the town,
Hear the hoofbeats drumming--
All your hopes fall down.

Now the Rider is departing just as swiftly as he came,
He's taking someone with him and I will not tell his name,
It's either you or me or maybe someone else we know--
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 villagers will make believe he never came at all--
But 'way 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?
12-12-1990