T’was the night before Jihad, when all through the land
Not a missile was nestled, all fuses in hand.
Our splodey vests hung by the prayer mat with care
in the hope that our virgins soon would be there.
The children were cowered each waiting their turn
To find out who’s chosen and who would soon burn.
And mamma in her ‘Burka, from her head to her toes
Hmmm,… I’ve ne’r actually seen her, not even her nose.
When out on the sand there arose such a clatter,
I sprang quick from my rice sack to see what was the matter.
Outside of the window I saw a great burst,
So I grabbed me the oldest and shoved him out first.
The moon on the crest of the new fallen dust
Gave the lustre of mid-day to blood, gore and lust;
When, what to my screaming of ACKBAR should hear,
But a miniature blood splat, where my eldest was near.
I thought of his footwork, so lively and slick,
I knew in a moment he just went splat quick.
More rapid than eagles the cruise missiles they came,
So I screamed for the martyrs, and called them by name;
“Now, Achmed! Now Ali! now, Mohammed and MORSI!
c’mon, Ayman! up Hisham! move, KHAYBAR and CORSEY!
To the top of the shack! to the top of the dune!
Now put on those vests for the virgins are soon.
As dry figs that before the wild back draft would fly,
When they meet with a virgin, they’ll meet with the sky;
So up to the bunker-top we shoved them right sneak,
With vests full of c-4, and tears on their cheek.
And then, in a twinkling, we heard on the cot
The shivering, and crying, of a cowering tot.
As I drew back my hand, and was starting to snap,
I spied what I thought was a martyrdom chap.
He was dressed in his vest, with the wires and bits
And his face was so snearing, lips quivering in fits.
A bundle of shrapnel thought strapped to his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll scruffy mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the terse of his chin was as white as the snow;
The fuse of a pipe bomb he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a stern face and broad shoulders quite tight,
That flexed, when he sneared with a towering might.
He was fit and quite massive, a fearsome old elf,
And I shivered when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had something to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all my pockets; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the snatch rope he rose;
He sprang to his chopper, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
In the thunderous seconds the sand blasting my sockets,
I realized quite quickly what he placed in my pockets.
The smell of black powder burned right up my nose,
Was the last thing I smelled before it vaporized my toes.
The kids heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight,
“ALLAH ACKBAR YOU BASTARD, – AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!”