They have chopped down that tree
And the bees rush to my balcony,
Dad has cut down those pink roses,
But there are mosquitoes from Aleppo
Flying around my bedroom fan.

I sat on our study table with fairy lights
While my roommate put on her running shoes,
Mosquitoes waltzed around her sugarless tea,
Drank my blood below the knee and flew-
Away to Aleppo, far away to those dead roses.