| When the night is starved and mean and long with dread
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| And a bitter frost is filling up your bed
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| You put your ear against the pale and howling wall
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| You can almost hear the rider’s mournful call
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| (Hulloo! Hulloo!)
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| It’s the cry of the banished horseman
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| He rode in darkness on an o’nery steed of black
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| O’er the broken graves and wagon tracks
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| Now drag your door against the snow and listen west
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| You can almost hear the rider in the mist
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| (Hulloo! Hulloo!)
|
| It’s the cry of the banished horseman
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| For forty days and forty nights he fell
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| From Sacramento to the battered gates of Hell
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| Now take a step into the hard and deathly chill
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| You can almost hear the rider cross the hill
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| (Hulloo!)
|
| It’s the cry of the banished horseman
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| A hunting horn and knife held in his killing fist
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| The Mark of Cain, a brand upon his wrist
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| Now lean into the blizzard’s fury, if you dare
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| You can almost hear the rider’s trumpet blare
|
| (Hulloo! Hulloo!)
|
| It’s the cry of the banished horseman
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| They marked his arm because he gone and killed a man
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| And cast him out to roam uncharted land
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| Now brave another pace and step into the fear
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| You can almost hear the rider drawing near
|
| (Hulloo!)
|
| It’s the cry of the banished horseman
|
| And to the man he killed, he vowed to never mourn
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| To those he left, he promised to return
|
| Now call three times into the unforgiving storm
|
| You can almost hear the rider spread his arms
|
| (Hulloo! Hulloo!)
|
| It’s the cry of the banished horseman
|
| I am that rider on the dark, dark steed
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| When they asked who saved you, tell 'em it was Reed
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| Now follow me into the savage night
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| You can almost hear a new dawn’s early light
|
| (Hulloo! Hulloo!)
|
| It’s the cry of the banished horseman |