Inside the Old Dutch Church my body stays.
As a man, I was a soldier in war.
But on the battlefield my head decays,
And yet, I still wander the world once more.
At midnight, my old curse awakens me,
So I roam the roads, searching for my head.
I travel on my decayed horse with glee,
But beware! I will take your head instead.
With two sharp swords strapped along my gaunt back,
I race upon the path of blood and death.
I am dressed in my old ragged robes of black.
Faint curses upon people’s once warm breath.
Beneath my arm I tuck my head of bone,
Until I return to my tomb of stone.