Plague Songtext
von wych elm

I grew up as a peasant
In 17th century France
I′m not as diseased or quite as weak
As you think I am
Damp itchy skin
Putting oil in my lamp
Sneaking out to find
My old man

My ribs feel tough and I feel rough
I think I have the plague
I feel worse and worse every day
I think I have the plague


My feet are swollen
Fingers numb
Sweaty skin
Heavy lungs
My arms ache
And I feel the weight
Of my womanhood
Of my fate

My ribs feel tough and I feel rough
I think I have the plague
I feel worse and worse every day
I think I have the plague

How much more pain can I take?
I think I have the plague
How much more until I break?
I think I have the plague

I think
I have
The plague