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Plow-land vulnerable for plunder,
Source of sins,
I am your victim; i am a pluries, Plunger,
What an onus!
Put on my soft shoulders,
They forced me to side with one of my offspring,
But I refused,
Who would stop the double B, Bush and Blair muster?
Partaking the cake and leaving the debris behind,
For the Chalabis and cos,
My enemies-brothers are now rushing faster,
To dig in my grave before my fate's time,
In a monomania-like manner and attitude,
I am a Persona Extranea,
But Grata, as it is confirmed on this parchment,
My signature, Duplicata.
The highway robbers are set now to move in,
With the blessing of my brothers enemies,
And their masters,
To celebrate the death of a dictator,
And the birth of another one,
For sure, Uncle Sam is not a Mesopotamian,
But now he has a say to lecture on Gilgamesh and his glories,
He is even allowed to guide risk tours around,
What was left of the old saved past,
If not looted or destroyed!
But all what I can say,
Thanks to the torrents of these multi-coloured doves,
Waiting for them with flying, blazing flags,
And slogans of tormented peace,
What a freedom! What a Peace!?
An orchestrated feast in the Middle East...

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