We're Dead Men

We are dead men, said the spectre
In his uniform of skin;
We were in another sector
When the rockets hurtled in.

We were in another sector,
Where the flag was green as bile,
And the resident inspector
Did not know the way to smile.

When we heard the bullets rifling
Through our bodies like a thief,
There was barely air for stifling
Our expressions of relief.

There was barely air for stifling
All the victims at a swoop;
But they paused for questions, trifling,
All about our ethnic group.

There's a cordon, there's a haven,
There are envoys where we fall,
But their promises sound craven
Through each corridor and wall.

And their promises sound craven,
Like the slogans they repeat,
As we lie here, roughly shaven,
Underneath a dirty sheet.

In the Sarajevo gutters,
Far across the Golan Heights,
We can hear the camera shutters,
As the snipers check their sights.

We can hear the camera shutters,
And the voices by our head,
Including one that mutters
We are dead men, we are dead.


From Tony Blair reminds me of a budgie

We're Dead Men

- a Sarajevo resident quoted in The Guardian