Tears of pus and putrescent breath;
Lord of Disease, Pestilence cometh.
With a retinue of sickly things,
A plague upon mankind he brings.
He bears down on us of flesh and bone,
And as our pain becomes more sheer
So too grows our tired demeanor
Chillingly cold; ever more drear.
He’ll appear at first with Famine in tow,
Seeded destruction War shall then sow
And to ferry the souls, Death at last shows.


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