To the tune of the riding-song of Victory, a Shining Horse neighs and its rider is White. His craft is intellectual, yes from an engineer to the very best smith. In His one hand He holds a designer bow and in the other hand a slingshot with a sharp stone. He bares His teeth to the world and to the kings He shows His lip defiantly. And this, while He is sitting like a King on His white horse. He begins his universe-ride and behind Him a terrifying angel-troop follows in line. Look, without hesitation He takes His third and it is now too late to start praying.  

To the tune of the riding-song of hell, a Black Horse neighs and its rider is dressed in black. He sings at the top of his voice: Oh sorrow upon sorrow. Look, I claim the life of the worldling and I claim his hart. In chorus the demons hum together, to taunt humankind. Yes, they sing, add another full measure to man’s misery. So you also fall, oh scale, and claim your full quarter. Leave the world citizen frantic, completely confused now. Raca finishes a big city in the blink of an eye. First too dry and then too wet. In the rations of the crop failures, there is little wheat, barley, wine or oil left on the shop shelf.

To the tune of the riding song of Edom, with the sad sound of bagpipe, a rider comes and his horse is flaming red. Look, it is a thoroughbred Englishman in a Scottish dress. Yes while he throws his body around, swaggering and taunting. An angry Irishman begins to hit him from behind with a whip. The Englishman gets a hideous wrinkle in his mouth and in his self-made bed, a vicious flea bites him. He cannot finish what he began and therefore he will have to cover his own grave on top of him. Look, the entire West and the world are invited to his controversy and discord and what follows is not pretty at all.

To the terrifying tune of the riding song of Death, there comes a Grey Horse, its rider is a skeleton and he goes completely overboard. He chases insanely from port to starboard and globally he opens hell’s gate. He sings: My Grey Horse is a wild harlequin, yes a terrible cyclone. First he gallops in circles and then he runs in a straight line. Then he disappears over the horizon and then he appears under a new name again. The rider of death sings: I drink my blood-red wine and I bring much sorrow and pain. Under flood, drought, earthquake, pestilence and famine, mankind will wither away indeed.