To Carry Me Home...   On a pale white horse, On a cold, sharp breeze, He rides like a wind, Through the ashen trees,   He moves like a ghost, Over rivers that flow, Through the shadows of dusk, Like a carrion crow,   Between mountains that reach, For the sun, out of cold, For the warmth of the light, From the dark of the world,   Through the dust covered vales, Through the green-tipped pines, Over cities that sprawl, From the chill of our minds,   He flows like the rain, Like a shadow, so bleak, On the face of the earth, On the face of the meek,   Looking up from below, As he travels on high, Through the clouds that part, In the starless sky,   Through the whistling wind, He has finally come, Like the wavering heat, Of the desert sun,   With cradled arms, A nest of bone, To carry me home, To carry me home...