by Nick Gisburne
The final ships make ready to depart
We share, with those we love, a grim goodbye
Divided by the Quota, pulled apart
We know it is their destiny to die
Our freedoms, fragile, never last for long
The world has turned and we must break and bleed
Invaders claim the best, the brave, the strong
They come to take our lives. They come to feed
Two hundred thousand souls are stolen, lost
Yet all who meet the Quota make a choice
Survival, life, comes only at a cost
For those who die to save us, we rejoice
The Quota falls upon us every year
But somehow, still, we rise to face our fear
