Sunday, April 16, 2017



Ride through the darkness in a cloak of black
Through forests of Evil and Gray
Over the mountains of volcanic Hate
Into the sunshine of day.

Gallop on horseback to the peak of the hill
As fast as the winds through the leaves
And there you will find only one of it's kind:
The babbling brook that grieves.

Sinister thoughts flash through your mind
As you ride to the valley below
Listening to moan and groan and sob
From forests you never will know.

Ride fast to the river in the palm of the valley
And cleanse your horse and yourself as well
And then all of the beauty of the valley is yours
To reach Heaven, you must go through Hell.

Written when I was a child
and I never knew what it meant
until now.............
Copyright ©2004 Voo