Where I lived amongst an ancient tribe
Gauging their ways of surviving the weather
So harsh, yet an accepted fact
I had nothing but a profound admiration
At Twilight, when the crescent moon smiled
We all gathered over burning sticks of wood
As a curly smoke wafted into the mysterious skies
Our Head Tribesmen recited stories of yore
Of the greatest Warrior King that ever lived
Now, a Phantom, that rides a black horse
Protects the desert from prying dark souls
Feared by thugs who venture the desert
For deporting hapless flesh trade lasses
Or transporting drugs and arms to several countries
A Sirocco often indicates the Warrior King's arrival
A galloping burly horse emerges from the whirling sand
Rearing up it's hind legs, makes a loud call
The Phantom, then, raises his mighty Sword
Time comes to a grinding halt
The moon's rays shine on his magical sword
Silver warm light it emits in the dark
Razor blades fly out of the steely weapon
Beheading those monsters behind the veil
Red blood spills on the sandy tracks
Skeletons arise from the depths of hell
Clicking and Clanking, they wobble on sand
Pulling the bodies down with the souls that plead
No mercy do they get for their gruesome acts
Suffering now, for the rest of their dead lives
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