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?