In the midst of winter, under a starry night,
sits the knight with no name upon his horse of white.
A thousand battles has he seen, a thousand blood soaked fields,
countless warriors bourne away upon their own red shields.

His coal black eyes survey the field, now peaceful in moonlight,
and he names the names of those who will fall, in the mornings fight.
Silently he adds the names to those that are already dead,
a countless list of fallen is compiled within his head.

His face holds no emotion, under helm of black,
giving no thought to the legions waiting to attack.
He knows the snow will be red with blood ,when comes the early dawn.
He knows the dead will one day return, when the Earth sings its final song.

No sword holds the nameless knight, no quiver, or no bow.
Without weapon and with no shield into this battle will he go.
Riding wildly into the fray, a nameless knight without remorse,
but no living man will see this knight, who rides the bone white horse.

He watches each man intently, knowing each of their fears,
if they meet their fate defiantally, or cowering in their tears.
No judgement does this knight make, on honor or bravery,
the purest of heart do meet him as do those steeped in villiany.

Now the nameless knight merely sits, watches and does wait,
on the future battlefield where many will meet their fate.
Breathing in the cold cool air, in the starry night,
the nameless knight in black armor, upon his horse of white.