The Headless Horseman
I am inspired by Sir Ichabod Crane, who rode through the night of tempest and rain.
He loved a young girl who quilted and read, and held up his head by hope and a thread.
He came to a bridge and paused with a frown, then he spurred on his steed and kept his head down.
Yes, I am inspired by Ichabod Crane, who charged through the night of terror and pain.
The leaves swirled around while shadows leapt high, and moaned with a sigh that he would soon die.
His mighty heart drummed like hooves on a post, as he chose out the path that scared him the most.
Oh, I am inspired by Ichabod Crane, who followed his heart instead of his brain.
He loved a young girl who quilted and read, and held up his head by hope and a thread.
His thunderous charge was drowned by the squall, as he lifted his face and sacrificed all.
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