In a hot, dry part of the world,
A village of a hundred and two,
Packed into mud-crafted homes.
In the central market square,
Men trade livestock,
Women exchange clothes and fruits.
Children play ball games in the streets,
Running in circles, laughing and playing.
Everything is perfect here, tranquil.
Then, a booming is heard.
A concussive wave shakes the village.
Children scream in pain and fear,
As American bombs rain down,
Engulfing the terrorists in an unearthly inferno.