A Hard Rain is Falling in a Dry Land

In ancient Mali the hate runs deep,

The lies and violence multiply.
Is there no end to sorrow's journey?

The horror grows and the people weep.

The outside world just wring their hands

As the angel of death barks his commands.

The leaders of France count on victory

But seem unable to restrain their friends.

The means are justified by the ends;

And so the murders begin again,

The same old bloody story,

Justice gives way to revenge.

The army are a bunch of toughs:

Angry thugs in uniform,

Who treat the law with utter scorn.

They fight among themselves like dogs

When they're not killing Tuaregs.

The Tuareg are an enemy race,

Doomed by dint of paler face.

Jihadists are just druggie scum,

To rape and burn was their good fun.

But of course they are long fled,

It is not them who're being shot dead.

Men are shot 'cos of how they're dressed,

With ammo supplied by an indulgent West.

Only law can end the hatred,

Courts not shootings the way forward,

Past crimes must be investigated.

Justice, not rough, but quite fine-grained

And true needs now to be sustained.

Knowledge is key to horror's abating.