We thought we won the war

We stand all in a line
to mourn his death
the ignorant, the idiots
the kings and fools,
all pray to his shrine
today we bury the Champion,
a gullible little child
we named “Arab Spring”
we sprinkle the last grains of dust
of Gun-Powder and mist
on the grave we dug deep
before the infant was born
on a hill so steep
on the day he was born,
we stood there asleep
we thought we won the war
we thought the wound was healed
we all played a role,
to slay the little child
the idiots marched the street
shook the grounds, on drums and feet
broke the walls and the castle crumbled
by their hands, the old was lynched
by their hands, Vanity humbled
then the Fools called in Victory
ever so fast, to share in the loot
T’was the day, greed wrote our History
the Ignorant marched on route
to the darkened battlefield
ravished by tones of the flute
made of the finest devil horn
they plant a tree of hope,
a tree with no fruit
on the day the child was born,
and the wound we thought was healed,
is never more torn.
