There was a fortune teller on the street,
a wizened old man who lost all his hair.
For every single person he would meet,
he would cast a fortune of grim despair.

Nobody believed him; "he's mad," they said.
They discounted his fortunes as nonsense.
But when the plague spread and the skies turned red,
they went to the old man for his guidance.

The old man asked, "now why are you scared?"
"The future is written; none will be spared."