The Deadline

The year, it was two thousand twenty,
the earth was still alive.
With morals few and guns a’plenty
it was hard just to survive.

The war had left us short of men,
the quakes had turned the water.
We all seemed soaked in blood and sin,
and Hell could be no hotter.

Most women folk could not conceive,
and if they did we prayed,
that babies born could hear and see
or their lives would not be saved.

In this new world there wasn’t time
for love, just time for dread.
Each day we drew out two new lines,
for life, and one for dead

And if one woke up with cough and fever
then he was out of time.
With no meds to cure, or pills to give her
They must go to the line.

A deadline in this brave new world,
truly meant your time was done,
A difficult cut with a dirty sword
to save the ammo for the gun.