LYRIC

The vex within these vows
The hex upon this house
These withered, unsure hands
Could be my own

Paper, splitting skin
Clinging to frail bone
Rings that sprung eternal
Now home

‘The scorching fevers
Which distract the sense
And snatch us raving
Unprepared, from hence

At thy contagious darts
That wound the heads
Of weeping friends
Who wait at dying beds’

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