Wych Elm - Field Crow

Plague

I grew up as a peasant
In 17th century France
I'm not as diseased or quite as weak
As you think I am
Damp itchy skin
Putting oil in my lamp
Sneaking out to find
My old man

My ribs feel tough and I feel rough
I think I have the plague
I feel worse and worse every day
I think I have the plague

My feet are swollen
Fingers numb
Sweaty skin
Heavy lungs
My arms ache
And I feel the weight
Of my womanhood
Of my fate

My ribs feel tough and I feel rough
I think I have the plague
I feel worse and worse every day
I think I have the plague

How much more pain can I take?
I think I have the plague
How much more until I break?
I think I have the plague

I think
I have
The plague

Credits
Writer(s): Caitlin Georga Elliman, Jack Anthony Hitchins
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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