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Plague of ten, now as then
Saving souls, diggin' holes
Plague of nine, yours and mine
Counting stars, sharing scars
Plague of eight, much too late
Plague of seven, what we're given
Lay it low, much too slow
Plague of six, in the mix
Take it back, burnt and black
Turn to dust, as we must
Plague of five, still alive
Light the dark, with that spark
Plague of four, please no more
Not our turn, we can learn
Plague of three, set us free
Forgive, forget, what we said
Plague of two, me and you
Are the key, you and me
Plague of one, just begun
Breaking rules, silly fools
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So quiet are the days
Of tomorrow sleeping
The hours I follow backward
The trail of my future decay
So quiet are the hours of my dreaming
My dreaming days
Sleeping hours, day by day
Laced with wings of solitude
Dusty sprinkles spawn a multitude
Tock-ticking
Laced with wings of solitude
Dusty sprinkles lightly spear, a multitude
Tick-tocking
So quiet are the hours
So lonely the days (sleeping)
So violent, so harsh are the nights
All my dreaming days
Can I turn back time?
Can I change your mind?
Should I watch you take, what should be mine?
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Adieu, farewell Earth's bliss
This world uncertain is
Fond are life's lustful joys
Death proves them all but toys
None from his darts can fly
I am sick, I must die
Rich men, trust not in wealth
Gold cannot buy you health
Physic himself must fade
All things to end are made
The plague full swift goes by
I am sick, I must die
Beauty is but a flower
Which wrinkles will devour
Brightness falls from the air
Queens have died young and fair
Dust hath closed Helen's eye
I am sick, I must die
Strength stoops unto the grave
Worms feed on Hector brave
Swords may not fight with fate
Earth still holds ope her gate
Come, come! The bells do cry
I am sick, I must die
Lord, have mercy on us!
Wit with his wantonness
Tasteth death's bitterness
Hell's executioner
Hath no ears for to hear
What vain art can reply
I am sick, I must die
Lord, have mercy on us!
Haste therefore each degree
To welcome destiny
Heaven is our heritage
Earth but a player's stage
Mount we unto the sky
I am sick, I must die
(Thomas Nashe - 1592)
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