The Cry of the Banished Horseman American Murder Song

When the night is starved and mean and long with dread
And a bitter frost is filling up your bed
You put your ear against the pale and howling wall
You can almost hear the rider's mournful call

(Hulloo! Hulloo!)

It's the cry of the banished horseman
He rode in darkness on an o'nery steed of black
O'er the broken graves and wagon tracks
Now drag your door against the snow and listen west
You can almost hear the rider in the mist

(Hulloo! Hulloo!)

It's the cry of the banished horseman
For forty days and forty nights he fell
From Sacramento to the battered gates of Hell
Now take a step into the hard and deathly chill
You can almost hear the rider cross the hill

(Hulloo!)

It's the cry of the banished horseman
A hunting horn and knife held in his killing fist
The Mark of Cain, a brand upon his wrist
Now lean into the blizzard's fury, if you dare
You can almost hear the rider's trumpet blare