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!

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