Sing, sing a song of freedom,
fly, fly messenger of the world.
Glide through Aeolus carrying the word.
Let nothing hinder your flight of peace.
Be not afraid of God's message.
Just glide, messenger, glide.
Sing, beauty of song, sing.
Sing it loud, peace. Sing it clear, peace.
Sing the song for all to hear.
Let it ride on Boreas, glide on Zephyr,
whisk through Favonius and Eurus.
Sing, that glorious message of our Lord.
Sing that precious song.
As the screaming Sirocco swept the sands,
Suffocating the Shiekh's Sixth Sick Sheep,
It's sister, Simoon, soon sought to strike
The sweat-suffering Sultan's sweet sleep.
Then came the Khamsin, and Calima, too,
- Dust-devils, Diabolos, Lavaan, Loo!
Angered, Aeolos, King of the Air,
Council called up with him in chair
Boreas, Euros, Fair Favonius,
Zesty Zephyr, alll were there
With solemn, sullen, scowl he said:
I'll rout these rascals, send you instead.
The howling hot-heads harassed no more
As the Aeolian Airs soothed the Shiekh's sandy sore!
(At his point I petulantly wind up my windy verbiage -
As continuing ceaselessly and adamantly with unending alliteration would surely end in gibberish and garbage)
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