The Red Snappers on Ziehl Nielsen Stain
Lyrics
“The Ancient Plague (TB)”
(Verse 1) I am the seed, inhaled and deep, A tiny speck the body keeps. A wall is built, a “Ghon” a scar, A Latent truce, behind a bar. I am the prisoner, locked inside, Where granulomas form and hide. I wait for years, I bide my time, A sleeping, patient, ancient crime.
(Chorus) Oh, I am TB, the ancient blight, The sleeping day, the drenching night. I am the one who sleeps and keeps, And I’m the one who breaks and leaps. The “White Death’s” breath, I am TB.
(Verse 2) But then the shield begins to fall, A weakened host who hears my call. The Immunocompromised, frail, Releases me from my own jail. The dragon wakes, the truce is done, The Active battle has begun. The fever, and the drenching night, The “consumption,” and the loss of light.
(Chorus) Oh, I am TB, the ancient blight, The sleeping day, the drenching night. I am the one who sleeps and keeps, And I’m the one who breaks and leaps. The “White Death’s” breath, I am TB.
(Verse 3) I love the apex, high above, I eat the tissue, I do not love. A “cheesy” center starts to rot, I liquefy the entire spot. I break the wall, I form a cave, A Cavitation, dark and grave. From this new cave, I spill my seed, Transbronchial (Tree-in-Bud) is how I speed.
(Chorus) Oh, I am TB, the ancient blight, The sleeping day, the drenching night. I am the one who sleeps and keeps, And I’m the one who breaks and leaps. The “White Death’s” breath, I am TB.
(Bridge) But if I breach the other path, The bloodstream, in my total wrath, I scatter wide, like “millet seed,” A Miliary and fatal deed. A thousand tiny, peppered dots, O’erwhelming all the healthy plots.
(Outro) So I am two: the one who sleeps, And I’m the one who breaks the keeps. The ancient plague, the “White Death’s” breath, I am TB… the slow-walk death. I am TB.
Poem
“The Ancient Plague (TB)”
I am the seed, inhaled and deep, A tiny speck the body keeps. A wall is built, a “Ghon” a scar, A Latent truce, behind a bar. I am the prisoner, locked inside, Where granulomas form and hide. I wait for years, I bide my time, A sleeping, patient, ancient crime.
But then the shield begins to fall, A weakened host who hears my call. The Immunocompromised, frail, Releases me from my own jail. The dragon wakes, the truce is done, The Active battle has begun. The fever, and the drenching night, The “consumption,” and the loss of light.
I love the apex, high above, I eat the tissue, I do not love. A “cheesy” center starts to rot, I liquefy the entire spot. I break the wall, I form a cave, A Cavitation, dark and grave. A hollow space, a gaping hole, From which I’ll spread and take my toll.
From this new cave, I spill my seed, Into the airways, where I feed. I travel down the bronchial line, A Transbronchial, malign. The CT sees the “Tree-in-Bud,” A sign of this infectious flood.
But if I breach the other path, The bloodstream, in my total wrath, I scatter wide, like “millet seed,” A Miliary and fatal deed. A thousand tiny, peppered dots, O’erwhelming all the healthy plots.