Upon which the red creeps,

A place that is full of

People in the streets.

 

The plague advances

Bit by bit,

Lowering the people

Into a dark cold pit.

 

Is there an escape

From the crypt

That holds its victims

In a suffocating grip?

 

Suffering is not brief

It takes a toll on the soul

Hear the cries for relief

That come from the hole

 

But will a plea

Make a leader sway,

And force him to drive

The malice away?

 

The streets have been dyed red;

It is a plague that all dread.

When malice and ill-will ensue

The disease takes root.

 

Help will come too late

For those who've been tainted

By the red plague.

 

Will help come too late

For those who've been tainted

By the red plague?