Buildings blackened by fire
rooted shops pockmarked with bullet holes
the trench of death hangs over braggaoille
the public of Congo
is just a battlefield for civil war

bloated corpses litter the streets
as cobra and Zulu militias
drunk and drugged fire heavy
mortars and machine guns
at everything that moves

terrified residents hole up
behind barricaded doors
then in the morning
they hear answers to their prayer
the foreign legion is coming