444 – A Round Of Plague

Poem Number 444

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A Round Of Plague

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Attishoo Attishoo we all fall down

Everybody’s dying in the poorer parts of town

Nobody left standing, all the folk are in their beds

Quickly! Burn the houses down before the plague can spread!

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Everybody’s worried in the business parts of town

Attishoo Attishoo we all fall down

No-one in the butcher’s shop, the bank has closed its doors

Better safe than sorry ‘til the doctors find the cause.

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The rich are drinking Chablis as they watch the evening news

It’ll never reach the suburbs, or the flats with river views

Attishoo Attishoo we all fall down

Everybody’s blasé in the posher parts of town.

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The slums, the shops, the suburbs lying silent in the rain

Bodies lying bloated, houses burnt in every lane

Everybody’s dead and gone, just ghosts to fill the town

Attishoo Attishoo we all fall down.

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