I concede that you are not a terrorist
That you are a man of passion
Who happens to enjoy the sight of fireballs.
In the long dark of when it was simply a match
That burned down to the last
You only shook your fingers in the breeze.
When by accident a whole book of them was lit
You smiled and dropped it on a line of ants
Smelling the sweetly acrid whisps of smoke.
School may have taught you maths and geography
History did more than teach of a past
Glorious but lost in the arms of a beast.
A lunch time brought word of rebellion
Arms against the beast and no reply is heard
So a match is sparked within your breast.
Consider the holy words, day after day
Consider the shame of being kept from the true path
Consider the shame of being kept from spreading the Word.
Then the flame inside is fanned, the smell of burning insects
The beast must be burned, let out the word
Let the Word be the burning spear as of old.
All who fail to tremble before you
Must burn in shame and burn to quench your thirst
To once again stand tall as you burn.
BillSaysThis 