The innocence of a detainee was confirmed yesterday. But we didn’t torture him, thank G-d. We let the Syrians do it. In the spirit of the season, I’m sorry to those for whom I’ve not done enough: the suffering poor, the tortured, and the soldiers who have died for blood-stained glory.
Farewell, oh tortured souls.
Those to whom they attached electrodes,
I bid thee, rest well.
In innocence you protest,
“I’ll never wear a bomber’s vest,”
While they apply the drowning test.
But now it’s time for you to rest,
Oh bloody, pained and faithful soul.
Your agonized cries of note
Lead to the fall of leaders,
We are told.
But the heads that should be on the ground, still,
Are down the street from the white-domed hill.
It is agreed that if no law is conceded,
The CIA will have to cease it.
There’s danger there, though,
Don’t you see it?
Sure, they will be forced to desist,
But secretly, the worst will persist.
Then, once discovered, they will wake you in the gloam,
And shoot you all ere they send you home.
When the massacre’s exposed,
Calamity will ensue.
And finally they’ll fall
For what they’ve done to you.
Yet to my ode I add this apologetic truth:
I’ve not much sympathy for your abuse.
Fear is my purpose in protesting thus,
For when they’re done with you,
They’re sure to come for us.