In cart Not available Out of stock


At the Gates (The Sentry’s Observation)
Written by: MARK BRINE

There’s an ivory-colored castle
Pen-quill from its stand
Someone’s scratching a message
To a far off distant land
A rider on a pale horse
Races thru a storm-filled night
Lightnin’ cracks the bleak dark sky
Casting pale ‘n frightening light

A scarlet cloak is flapping
With a heavy gust-like snap
A sentry moves to the gate
From the tavern just beyond him
Where the ales are passed and swung
By the unaware and unconcerned
Too lost in drunken fun

A two-edged sword, it slices
The wind in violent swipes
The horse pounds on through the mounting storm
To a harvest ever-ripe
As the tear-stained ink dries on the notes
that are rolled up in a grasp
And the wax seal hardens the impression
From the sacred ring (that it was cast

The smell of death reeks the air
The Sentry reacts
Involuntary shivers bolt up
And across his tightened back
He turns toward the laughter
Growing louder in the night
Then in a jolt, back out to a thunderin’ sound
In the dim and ghostly light
©1999 Mark Brine Music (BMI)