Uncle Sam,
I hear you are now a tourist,
On a visit to Syria,
With your cousins
France, Britain and The Zionists
Your tour guide says
You would stop
By Iran
But you are unsure
About Russia

Bring back souvenirs
Of Orphans
Send me postcards
Of child soldiers
Like those ones in Angola.
Flirt with the widows
Please don't forget
Those perfumes
of Blood

You seem never to tire
Last week it was Egypt
Before then it was Libya
For decades
You have visited Africa
I wonder
when you would retire

Uncle Sam,
Just before you leave
Please drop your keys
To your stacked riches
To your dark secrets
For something tells me
You won't be coming home