 | Famine |  |
Amidst the din my voice shall yet be heard.
Let Blight and Hunger's winged hordes and Waste
Collect their tithes;
But haste!
My claim preferr'd, all they have left I take.
And with a rake,
Stirring what Fear conceals,
Want follows at my wheels
Through the red slush and mud
To slake
Her thirst, in blood.
Let Blight and Hunger's winged hordes and Waste
Collect their tithes;
But haste!
6
And with a rake,
Stirring what Fear conceals,
Want follows at my wheels
Through the red slush and mud
To slake
Her thirst, in blood.
| Famine | |