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In the beak of the Falcon, the rat perished.  In the mouth of the Jewry, the word ‘shalom” dies. In the empty gallon upon gallon, the crude-oil path lies skew and crooked. So, listen to the big Red Bear growling. Yes, in the voice of the big Land Baron. Look, his stare is focused on the Suez channel, yes, right around.

In vain, in despair, the begging words come to him: peace-peace, please pardon. But the darkness has risen over the middle of the day. The spring-sprout has bloomed in vain. So listen to the scare-song of the Bastion. Yes, while the defenseless prey perish in the beak of the Falcon.