Home
Its a year in the future,
around three thousand and four,
the world is in chaos,
putrid and poor.
The water is rising, up over the shore,
coming at last to cleanse off our gore.
Mutations of humans and animals galore,
the diseased and the dead litter the floor.
The skies are black with clouds of acid,
The powerplants stand empty and placid,
Trees and flowers, drooping and flacid,
All becomes rank, rotten and rancid.
The acrid air sears the lung,
the festering food flays the tongue
The bloodless corpses lay as flung,
with flies feeding as though on dung.
The few that are still able to think,
as they approach the beckoning brink,
gasping and groaning, in need of a drink,
wish they could change it all, in a blink.
The Blurb