Ther - A pale horse

You are the lost and found
Give em the once-around
Make sure they're on the ground
And don't make a sound

You are the bones that break
Give em the old shake, shake
You are the one that makes
And takes away

You came to me in dreams
Peaking in through the seams
Things are not what I see
Or what they seem to be

So much for golden grace
And windows that show your face
There is no line to trace
Or еrase

Does death ridе a motor bike?
Does she ride down the jersey turnpike?