Your infirmity gets worse,
As you try to stop the curse,
You try to restore old pulsation’s,
But they are new fiendish cries,
You clutch the grisly knife,
As you pierce it into the anemic man,
His cry of animosity and conviction,
Have only made you waste,
Now your chime of malady,
Has hastily emerged in swift movement,
The disease will slowly defile,
But it will defrost your skin,
After this happens you lay down one's life,
This diseased chain will never surrender.

 
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