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.