Chair has become the chair of the sphere
Nothing seems too clear
Everybody looking around for what looks like Haram
For nobody wants to be a roasted ram

Men have been pushed to the wall
Swallowing enough till their throats become sore
we have been choked with the loathsome meal
Our clarion call now sounds like war

The streets have been fed with Blood
And the atmosphere our sweaty voices
Men have been trampled and are tired
But only God can keep us from being fried