by Peter Loaf
The Russian Army, Afghanistan
The daughter taken, middle of night
The Russian compound, stripped of her clothes
The chieftain’s orders, use IUDs
Back in the compound, the fucking begun
Two thousand Afghans, come swarming in
Choppers attacking, the Stinger stings
Chief and his daughter, forever strained .
The puppet masters, they plot and plan
The tribal chieftains
Like private fiefdoms
Their tactics ruthless, because they can
Machine guns leveled, the blinding light
“A hostage we’ll hold”
“You won’t be so bold”
Strapped to a stretcher, screaming in fright
In stocks they’re locking, backbreaking pose
The whiplash smacking
Gagged with some sacking
Welting her body, holding her nose
A patrol murdered, smoking debris
His daughter is lost
A grenade gets tossed
Invasion bloody, country to squeeze
Bent back and helpless, join in the fun
Hands on her body
Some of them soddy
While high brass diddles, the battle won
The battle over, before begin
The outpost goes quiet
Commanders deny it
Relief column ambushed, another win
The grinder grinding, clipping their wings
Invaders regret
Don’t cover that bet
The graveyard of empires, the death of kings
Joining the fighters, a woman stained
Knife in the alley
A fem fatally
War of attrition, and nothing gained
