This swelling ache beneath my chest,
My welling eyes and heaving breast,
A crawling chill within my spine,
My face so creased with heavy lines,

My skull resounds with great fear
I feel as though my death is near
I know the reaper's bony hand
I shall not see the Promised Land

Hark! The angel harried close,
On Archimedes and the Ghost,
The lamb's is smeared upon the door
So that the Pharaoh wages war.

And I know my death is nigh
I am but a speck, a fly,
I am the priest whose fate is sealed
I am the locust in the field