Here unbeliever here in the land where young ones never grow old You have reached our noble hell on earth. Look Sarajevo, bloodsoaked now, majestic during one winter of propaganda when the nations gathered together. The cellist, his music rising above the markers stopped, hovering over the prayers and followed the alley ways deepening with rubble. The spider haunts the field, the broken trees their fruits stolen, birds without a home the air rich with the perfume of gunpowder where children gather to play killed forever where bearded trolls do a circle dance round their recent sacrifice. And here we stand shivering fed by UN rations lovely, freeze dried, fresh forever powdered eggs, dry milk and no water heroin smuggled into the city nectar of escape. Mother and child, not yet two, raped into a screaming terror and the flying shells burst like the break of a boil onto the marketplace and some will always sleep their traces washed away with a firehouse and some will never wake up to our betrayal. We welcomed you, peasant son, with open hands when you brought your goats from Montenegro now, a gift of plague bestowed upon our city. Your belle grad, your white fortress darker every day the death knell rings: Slobodan, your name means "freedom" what Balkan irony your barbarism rising over the Drina's banks flowing over to the villages onto the other side can the vampires bear to leave this land or Mars, the god of war holding the reins of Plato's horses.