For Libya - The Rot Of Reason.
The pretext is set, the war plans laid,
To glut Libyan ground with graves,
With 'Liberty' the Wests mocking cry,
They send in troops to kill and die.
But all hope of liberty will soon be lost,
As the rebels will learn to their cost,
Whilst screaming jets strafe and bomb,
Descending fast, and firing their guns.
With burning tanks upon their flanks,
And Al Qaeda safe within their ranks,
Democracy will die in the bloody dust,
Veiled in black rags of hate and mistrust.
Now silence settles on the burning sand,
Where lies the wreckage of a dying man,
" Is this our freedom ", are his final words,
As his spirit flees from this tortured earth.
The wet, black gold is Libya's curse,
And all its profits from the devils purse,
For the smiling wolf that offers its paw,
Shall soon devour each witless whore.
And the deadly dust that shrouds the sun,
Will return to kill their little ones,
With tumours on their infant skin,
Who dares find good in such mortal sin.
As hope lies crushed in the city streets,
Beside reason rotting in the heat,
Now rising forth from the fiery East,
A snarling red dragon, bares its teeth.
