No one talking.
Life is gone.
But it goes on.
2020 poor as a rock.
Unless you own stock.
But soon all will fall.
Farmers will eat.
Bloody streets will compete.
For the scraps beneath their feet.
The world will dress in bodybags.
A few will survive in tattered rags.
No one left to slave for Bankers coin.
But a rusty can of food will buy any kiss tonight.
What is coming can not change.
Keep your seed dry and close at hand.
For if food and bullets will be the only demand.
Visions of the Prophet to this broken land.
12222020 TDK.
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