From an old folk song
A couple of slaves fell on the roof
Of our house in Baghdad.
They were tied with a rope,
Back to back,
Wearing torn white clothes
And weeping.
I believe they were waiting for a ship, sailed by pirates
I believe they were staring at a horizon of trees.
I believe they were thinking of a distant island.
When I climbed to them and released them from the rope
They lit up in flames in my hands
And turned to ash.