Bring out your dead (a
dystopian scenario)
Dingalingaling; bring out
your dead;
Old ladies lying in piss,
Mothers and infants, underfed,
The infirm; starving and
penniless,
Cancer sufferers, deemed
to be
Fit for work indefinitely,
The terminally unemployed,
The lost souls cast into
the void,
Abused women, helpless,
trapped,
Terrified and suicidal,
Living with the
homicidal,
On universal credit, capped.
Bring out your dead; the
latest wave;
Fodder fit for a pauper’s
grave.
Dingalingaling; get to
work;
Snuff out the zombies on
the streets;
Purge every corner where
they lurk;
The manic depressive
deadbeats,
Who haven’t slept or eaten
in days,
The homeless lying in
shop doorways,
Families, living in one room,
Toddlers full of doom
and gloom,
Pensioners with no capital,
Destitute at seventy
five;
Their life-savings took a
nose dive,
And there’s no more
collateral.
Bring out your dead
before they rot;
Tomorrow there’s another
lot!
Dingalingaling; kick down
the door;
Drag the cadavers down
the stairs;
The jobless, invisible
poor,
The fathers caught out
unawares
By sudden mass
redundancy,
Forced by the DWP
Into contracts of zero
hours,
The residents of burning
towers,
Veterans with PTSD,
The mentally ill, turned
away,
Desperate, with no place
to stay;
There’s no care or
community.
Bring out your dead; the
corpses dire;
Deadwood for a funeral
pyre.
Dingalingaling; the end
is near;
Get the carcasses out in
the air;
The immigrants who live
in fear,
The refugees, kneeling in
prayer,
The reformists, the pacifists,
The environmental
activists,
The advocates of equal
pay,
Unions demanding more say
For workers, on minimum
wage,
Having to rely on foodbanks,
And the socialists, dismissed
as cranks,
By tabloids screaming in
outrage.
Bring out your dead; the
plan’s fulfilled
All the opposition’s
killed.
