It's the year of the Plague

The darkness behind my eyelids
smells like formaldehyde and rotten roses
my dreams claw their way out of my glass-eye sockets

Its the year of the Plague
and I wrap myself in her dress
my heart is beating faster
with rhythms I've never known before

I collect the flowers from Hangman's Hill
with the noose made of soft whispers around my neck
And I smile at the warm sunshine
as I'm dragging their ghastly bodies
out onto the flower fields

Its the year of the Plague
and I wrap myself in her dress
my heart is beating faster
with rhythms I've never known before.