You're walkin’ along the road. It's wet. It's been real wet lately. Nowt can take root when it's daily washed away. Yer skin is stretch tights aginst a hollow cage. A cough splutters like a dyin' bird. You got a mark on you. A burden. Somethin’ evil. You never lived a good life 'til now. But you had a dream. A prophet stood afore you with eyes turned blind to the uncaring sky. He spake of stoppin' the rain but even as he talked the black clouds moved to blot out the sun. You asked him for a cure. He pointed to the road. The devil smiled.
You make this pilgrimage to find a cure. Something’s changing in you. Something awful. You cover it up in rags and clothes. A transformation. A mark from the devil.