In the Arabian Spring,
Years of discontent into the streets, pour.
Unease hangs in the wind
An uprising given breath
Beneath a warm Tunisian sun,
Now lays in Deraa, drenched
In its own bloody pond
From Omsk to Damascus,
Al Assad drinks
With Bacchanalian abandon
Of the blood and tears of his "kins"
But in the face
Of armored tanks and troops
Khan Shikhum and Hama everyday every friday
For what they believe in, stand resolute
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