morituri te salutamus

A Little Town once called Syria In this little town, A Tyrant reigns with Terror He turned its beautiful streets Into rivers of blood In this little town, Babies are headless Women are limbless Men drown in their own blood. In this little town, Grapes are made of wrath Bread is a ticking bomb And water turns into blood. In this little town, Eyes are stones Bloody tears trickle from their sockets Flesh is blackened with horror And hearts rumble like thunder Inside charred corpses And deafen the silent world. In this little town, Watches tick regularly Around severed wrists Setting time for revenge. In this little town, Shells scythe through our throats Yet we breathe. Little town, “We who are dying salute you.”

Max O’Reilly