No Paler a Horse

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Grand Harvest

7:15

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No paler a horse sprang spun from the loom
Of the ages of ruin that rang hoarser our doom
Than the clarets of seraphs that clanged seven seals
And sang of our hearse in the plain of Jezreel
No paler a horse shalt trod under hoof, the vainglorious pride of Adam's bloodline
The Impaler Retrorse shod this blest beast to bear, even into the Palace Divine
And twined in its mane the shrouds of countless dead kingdoms decayed
Like unspoken promises of the plague to end all of plagues
Like the grandest of spokes perched upon Misfortune's great wheel
Spinning ever ghostly towards Megiddo in the plain of ill-fated Jezreel
Like an equine catafalque clad in the sombre pall of Sheol
Marching towards Megiddo in the plain of ill-fated Jezreel
No paler a horse bore whores more regaled
With the plentiful splendour of Babylon's grail
Awaiting a horseman, cloaked to conceal
A scythe meant for Megiddo, in the plain of Jezreel
No paler a horse graced the great battlefield
Nor grazed the meat off the cattle, revealed
As lifeless men in vain postures, kneeled
At the crossroads of Megiddo, in the plain of Jezreel
No paler a horse snaked the Harvester past Heaven's dread zeal
Nor drank the blood off the noblemen, by the scythe now revealed
As angels bled red with their dead king, garrotted and kneeled
Above the plain of Jezreel!
No paler a horse thus fulfilled Death's great prophecy
That all kingdoms must fall, whether of men or divinity
Thus, Hell followed too in Empyrean halls, now forever sealed and repealed
As the sun fades to black above Megiddo, in the plain of ill-fated Jezreel
No paler a horse wore sickles for shoes, so adorned
As to foreshadow razors closing in on my wrists, torn and worn
And shone in its eyes the sickening light of the Scythe-bearer's steel
With its shade on my inner Megiddo
Where flows, where grows, where shows –
All the pain that I feel
No paler a horse had its arrival more fiercely desired in the midst of my own dire toil
Than that singular steed of the Brier of Divorce from this coarse mortal coil
Grand Sire of Life's Antidote, with bared throat
I ache for the Day of the True Saviours seal
When this world much accursed fades to black
With that wound in my heart
That just wouldn't heal…

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