Underground
below the slime
the air grows stale
but folks feel fine.
In the sun the wind
is death if in the end
you lose your breath.
C'mon down,
the catacombs
are fine made in times
when memories end.
In all plagues
some were worse,
some were not
It took only one
to come in
and change the plot.
Stacking bones
with great thought
few remember
who it was
who brought death
underground
Or what they thought
of what they caught
until their den
was without a sound
of cries sighs or cough