Out of the fire and into the storm.
Through the four riders destruction was born.
One came with freedom. One came with war.
One brought the famine. The fourth is no more.

The White will win. The Red will sin.
The Black will cry. The Pale will make you die.
One will gain. One will give you pain.
One will yearn. And the last one makes the fire burn.

Stories of hunger, stories of hell.
Far in the distance the toll of the bell.
People were crying, struck to the land.
In blood it was written at their last stand.

The White will win. The Red will sin.
The Black will cry. The Pale will make you die.
One will gain. One will give you pain.
One will yearn. And the last one makes the fire burn.

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