Peasant twisted to suicide bomber,
Accepts misguidance, a prize long hoped for.
Watch as the skin-puppet dances,
His shadow cast huge on a million screens.
Into that shadow, perish in fire
As flying shards sing to Allah.
He hasn't the brains to know whom to hate,
He lets the herdsman decide.
The fear begins to gnaw,
Too late to pray now.
Terror betrays, makes him shit,
Too filthy to pray now.
He has barely the spine to pray... to detonate.
Barely the spine to scream God is great,
He kills one of us and ten of his own,
The herdsman betrays us all.
The rote-learned litany scorches his tongue,
And turns to vapour with his flesh.
He'd scream again but his lungs are char,
His skin shrivelled, only his shadow remains.
