They say a plague is coming
They say the end is nigh
They say we are but sinners who need judgment
And must die
The people of North Farthing
Have lately taken ill
They’ve quarantined the town they say but
It keeps spreading still
They say there’s terror up in Freeport
They say there’s panic in the west
We’re reaping what we sew they say
How could we have sewn this
O few showed up at church for mass
For they’re all in disbelief
They ignore the news that’s going round
And hide behind their grief
The baker closed his shop today
And none in town know why
The whispers and the rumors spread
But I’m too young to die
