The loudspeakers lie carelessly, the long statements of madness and infection in the shadow of the gun and the superstitions have sent the tired hand of the typewriter to search for the black lead lie...
Mercenary agents... The servants of foreigners have been suppressed! All the trenches were cleared in the shadow of the wise leadership of the first person of the country!
Lie after lie... The loudspeakers congratulated the lords and crows on the brutal slaughter of their companions... But dear dear comrade comrade for "The New Kurd of the Trench", the sonnet of the sonnet of the hadith has liberation...
Shoot the brave Baneh! Your love gave me an axe to fight for the most weeding roots, my dearest... Im always sweet.
When the carrion-eater weaves lies with this rare insolence, your sweet hands weave ropes around his neck, weave my ever-sweet, your love gave me an axe to my hand for the most weeding roots ever...
