To every disease that plagues the mind with a thud, deliverence from the infectious that is life. the lingering taste of vomit and blood, its all to much addedto the gracefull nostalgia of strife;
The true sickness we are forced to know each day, In memorium sanity new us well. So many dead now lay, and yet on the blooming bud we dwell.
With the twinkling of lifes lush petals death circumbs us all, Look not for salvation in heaven above, It is just a brush with death as referencing  the leaves that fall. A term that shall fit you like a glove.
The gears of the great machina are in motion, will the stars that shine lie to you. For when they are close to your heart you will get the notion, that if so, thr stars lives shall dwindle too.
To speak of disease is only the meaning of decadence, To each working eye like the mourning sunrise. So when ispeak of disease in just tence, look to thine selffor what is reflected in the eyes.