I never seen the calming of the east,
always been that way.
In the middle of the shifting sands,
where the sun is the hightest, and
the place where prophets are born.
Hate burns more there, then the
skin on your back.
Quaking the ground and turning rivers red,
the four horsemen make their stay.
They make fires to keep warm,
and dig deep in search for treasure.
Finding nothing more then black blood
from the Earth.
From it, they lay waste to everything.
Profitable it seems, the blood has come to be.
Selling it to the hungry mouths of the igorrant.
A million come from the west.
Preachers and merchants visit the horsmen first,
at there camp in the sands.
They stay, till no blood can be shed,
no token can be earned.
Yet from the time of their stay,
they bicker with eachother to the point that
they lay walls to seperate themselves.
The horsmen are amused with their quarrels,
but not bothered by it.
Still they profit from the blood,
as they observe.
In many passings of the Moon and Sun,
the east ravages and consumes itself.
the preachers and merchants still not exhausted.
They still settle with the horsmen.
In a golden age of the west, the pig come for a feast.
They hear of the blood that remains.
Taking no heed of the old resentment
between the preachers and mechants,
they settle too with the horsemen.
The pigs eat to where the bellies swell.
Their size crumbles the preachers temples,
and destory the mechants harbors.
The horsmen see this, and take interest.
They speak to the pigs and make a deal.
As agreed, the pigs is receives the black blood,
while the horsemen are allowed to wander,
and settle anywhere outside the sands of the east.
From there the horsemen travel all the lands,
seeking more profit however it can be achieved.
They wander the lands till time ends.
Till that day, they lay ashes and tears in their wake,
and thus the world slowly fades out
