When missiles fly
The Mullahs lie
They bide their time
To turn the tide
Their constant bluster
Now short of luster
For why we ask
No God sent task
To build a bomb
With feigned aplomb
Their word to spread
Among the dead
They have their place
To find God\'s grace
Not trample lives
Like stinging hives
Fear and temerity
No road to prosperity
But that\'s what they seek
Control of the meek
A proud nation with tales of old
A proud people who once were bold
A history where feats abound
A long lost empire to astound
Time for Iranians to now earn
That for which they clearly yearn
Freedoms tenuous flickering light
Now in their grasp in line of sight