Ring a Ring o' RosesDisease spreads on throughout the streets
Death like rain falls down in sheets
All the physicians, where do they go?
Fled, I say, all the way to France's sunny coast
No one left to heal the stricken
No one left to heal the unwell
The King has left us, can't you tell?
He's sentenced London to death, to Hell
Plague doctors wander our streets
In their silly costumes, ridiculous beaks!
The King has left them to heal the dire
While he's off resting in Oxfordshire
These doctors, I know, are a front
To hide the fact that we are done
That city has fallen to the Plague again
And that London may not reawaken
The sick are imprisoned behind sealed doors
Coughing, wheezing, covered in sores
Officials say it's "quarantine"
But once you go, you never leave
The beginning is a little cough
Nothing big, something soft
But then headaches erupt like horrid flames
With unnerving chills and muscle pains
Convulsions occur like demonic possession
Will they survive? That is the question
The sickness takes over