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 destitute in 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
Once all the opposition’s killed.