Touch

Sickness clings to their bones

Spread from the breath of the infected

Sacrament of the sick

Wasted words spat in vain

Your only hope is the reaper's touch

Touch!

We all fall down

We have succumbed to the bite of the rat flea

Mortality is consumed

Hymns and prayers will not mend the wounds

Cross bearers, penitents, no one can save them

Stacking bodies on the cart

Bring out your dead

Your dead

You're dead

No cure for this foul infection

Is this God's punishment?