give me water, give me fire,
let me scribe with blood my ire
emblazon vellum with his name
blot it out, end his game

languid, lazy, sunny summers,
blackened by the bombinating
darts of death from droning drummers,
breath of babies desecrating,

permeating peculiar fragrance
hypnotised by his own cadence
 avuncular charm to the rabble
made himself a Tower of Babel

as he faces interlocutor
forked tongue slithering with sick ease
he the notorious persecutor
refusing onus of war-freeze

proffering peace with guileful lips
whilst he plans apocalypse
ignore the innocent, defile the dying,
hell created through his lying

O give me fire, give me water,
let me scribe with blood his slaughter
let me scrub out cursed name
blot it out and end his game