The dusty roads of Palestine are no longer dusty.
The streets are blooded whirlpools,
With bumps and lumps cover in cloth,
Stained our land.
Killed my son.
His fresh blood on my hands,
His cold blood on their name,
I swore at the world, I swore into the streets,
Like a hostile woman being deceived,
I hated the nation hated the rules,
Beat on my legs.
Beat on my head.
Crying in despair.
Nobody brave enough to stop and care,
To ask me 'what's going on my dear',
They say its peace for peace,
But we hear bullets.
They say its justice.
But we hear screams.
Falling into a time of ambiguity with sorrow,
Would I even live until tomorrow?
Adding your comment:
i should be in bed... 
