The Chieftain’s Daughter
by Peter Loaf

The Russian Army, Afghanistan
The puppet masters, they plot and plan
The tribal chieftains
Like private fiefdoms
Their tactics ruthless, because they can

The daughter taken, middle of night
Machine guns leveled, the blinding light
“A hostage we’ll hold”
“You won’t be so bold”
Strapped to a stretcher, screaming in fright

The Russian compound, stripped of her clothes
In stocks they’re locking, backbreaking pose
The whiplash smacking
Gagged with some sacking
Welting her body, holding her nose

The chieftain’s orders, use IUDs
A patrol murdered, smoking debris
His daughter is lost
A grenade gets tossed
Invasion bloody, country to squeeze

Back in the compound, the fucking begun
Bent back and helpless, join in the fun
Hands on her body
Some of them soddy
While high brass diddles, the battle won

Two thousand Afghans, come swarming in
The battle over, before begin
The outpost goes quiet
Commanders deny it
Relief column ambushed, another win

Choppers attacking, the Stinger stings
The grinder grinding, clipping their wings
Invaders regret
Don’t cover that bet
The graveyard of empires, the death of kings

Chief and his daughter, forever strained
Joining the fighters, a woman stained
Knife in the alley
A fem fatally
War of attrition, and nothing gained

The Chieftain’s Daughter