Marching with iron clad boots, rusted with riot,
Your shoes can only hold the ocean of lies for so long.
Coughing up bloody deceit like the pneumonia of Syria's children,
You are the disease of our system.
I hope your lips crack wildly, revealing the rows of sharp teeth that sink so deeply into our lands.
Who are you to be the prompter of such destruction?
Who are you to run your murderous fingers through the dandruff in our scalps
You are nothing.
You are the poison in our drought-ridden rivers
You are the chemicals that rain down on us from man-made clouds.
Who are you?
You aren't even the master of your own destiny, so how do you propose you will become the tyrant of our existence?
Your power is as fleeting as the water that no longer quenches the Earth's thirst,
But you have built your throne on bullet cases and human bone.
We are the shout of refusal to bow to the despot.
Our blood flows through our veins only to achieve freedom
So suck us dry, but for every one of us you kill a new generation will take its place.
You laugh like you've won, and we cry because our tears will bring us victory while they fertilize the soil.
Your feeling of triumph is an illusion
Constructed from bomb-ridden villages and barrels of carnage.
Black flags of fraudulence committing atrocity in the name of God
You can hide behind their corruption, but it will do nothing to polish yours.
You will always be the filthy liar of our time, the Pharaoh of our horror stories
But that is what you will become.
A story.
Our martyrs will rise above to legend and you will sink below this into the indexes of history books
We will win.
Dear Bashar Al-Assad,
I dare you to lie through your blackened teeth one more time.
I dare you to shut your eyes on your throne for only a moment.
For the second you turn away.
Syria will crack open and swallow you in a fiery grave
