Story of a modern barbarian

The General is a brute they say

and folks against him have to pay

Well, the chlorine, phosgene and mustard gas,

Some are killed and some are dead

Our story is about an Alawiten chap.

Inherited a misfortune, coparcener of the trap.

But when brother and father died; the parliament lied, 

and then became the youngest ruler

at the age of only thirty-four!

Russian hopes are still alive

weapons and order are things to strive

And how could the west agree to such play

in a battle of fossil on the lands of clay

And then they fought with every conceivable arm

of verbal diplomacy and illusion of panic.

For the state is hanging on a thin wire,

there never went a day without the fire

of guns, explosives, and other kinds of explosives.

Everyone speaks but no one bothers!

Sliced in between is the plebeian soul

dubious destiny in a bottomless hole

they cry, then yell, then choke with fear

Like father like son, hard to hear.

Let them say he was a ruler of times

when euphemisms of war were prevalent 

when reasoning was unsound and logic was profane

Counting his last days, the Barbarian of today!