come with thee,
into black,
forget thy purpose,
remember thy lack,
scour in loneliness ,
unforgiving winds,
lose thy dreams,
and sensation in thy limbs.

thou shalt not sleep as thou recall all of thy sin,
f'r its the strongest curse in all ye' land,
not the black death, n'r thy's measles,
rath'r its depression, the sickness of thy people,
f'r a man hath nay choice but to give in,
as he hang beneath the churches steeple,
he pens a letter about the illness, warning thy people,
as he explains it'll nev'r defer
you will nev'r be able to feel again,
as im ****'d to announce there is nay cure.