I am well aware that my prayers make you cringe, and justifiably so, for they are indeed cringe-worthy. I do not wish to deny the impunity, nor the silliness, of my brazen requests and demands. Nor do I expect you to understand the plight of a lowly and twisted creature who is disdained and ostracized not only by lofty beings such as yourselves, but by his own kind. You wonder, as do I, why a self-obsessed reject of society was admitted to the Throne Room in the first place.

But it so happened last night, as you surely recall, that a bed was carried into the chamber. Sprawled upon it, you were shocked to see, was a youth neither ill nor deceased. It was I, and as I was brought before the Throne, I sensed the mortification on your faces, the embarrassment in your eyes, and the discomfort with which you averted your gaze. I heard you whispering among yourselves, "Is this boy so shameless that he cannot even be bothered to sit up while he speaks before the King of Kings?"

Then I was placed before the Throne, and I began to speak to G-d on High. I did not begin with praise, I did not end with thanks, I did not measure my words. I uttered things, blasphemous things, for which there is no justification. You gasped and covered your eyes and ears. Thus, you did not see the kindness and the love with which G-d received my words, and luckily so, for the confusion would doubtlessly be too much for you to bear.

And so, Heavenly Angels, while I cannot defend nor explain what happened last night, I do sincerely apologize for making you cringe.

You were once my dream, my shelter, my pride
You were one in a million wherever I flied,

You were the safest place for me to hide,
You were the reason i was able to glide,


Now, innocent people are passing by,
Leaving us heartless and barely hanging by,

I don’t even know how i feel inside,
There’s a fire inside me I cannot ignite,


Broken, shattered and dead inside
The only thing left is my soul outside,

Alone, damaged in this cold and icy skies,
Shaking, shimmering, hoping Lebanon will rise


Not now, not today, not even tomorrow
Lebanon, i can feel your pain, aggression and sorrow

You were once my guide, my inspiration, my smile
Now I don’t even know how many ****** clothes you’ve piled.