1349 was a very good year
a short poetical history of black death.
1349 (was a very good year)
Ovulating pustules oozing green black and yellow
do give the impression of a not so handsome fellow
yet his manner when he talks and the swagger when he walks
may convince you otherwise, at your peril.
Given reign across the nation without procrastination
none would say that he was really bad
but within one year of arriving the chances of surviving
his touch, I'm bound to say, was very sad.
Being born in eastern promise when the summer in its solstice
heaving sweating piles of putrid flesh unbound
left to fester and to frolic described by some as "only cholic"
it soon would sweep the world without a sound.
Still he did do us all a favour its a one we really savour
cleaning up our towns and cities and our parks
it's a shame his time is over for from Scotland down to Dover
he is needed once again to ignite sparks.
A cull is what we're needing something harsh to stop the bleeding
of society as we tumble from our way,
can we yet live through another once more brother killing brother
or will everything just slowly fade to grey?
It was mainly through the summer when we all felt such a bummer
mostly hay fever they say down in the wolds,
but the country bumpkin squire only ends up in the mire
along with all his helpers dressed in golds.
As for the working girls and the way they lost their curls
as the green gauge colouring took them to the fore
twas a damning of their sort as the customers got caught
with their pustules bursting out from every pore.