Thick with excitement was the chilly night
Eagles of Death Metal band
Grand , in its irreverent charm,
In Paris’s Bataclan theatre had just performed
When the real eagles of death, sick and deformed
Is not music the food of love?
Why then was the poor dove of peace harmed
That chilly , starry , night?
Why did terror strike
When notes of music should have
Monsters of hate brimming with
Where the music of love
With its ineffable harmony should have
In the National stadium
In a northern suburb of Paris
There was a loud celebratory hum
As crowds applauded their soccer team.
Suddenly, in the glittering venue
Sirens screamed with shrillness undue
On the pitch, the fans of soccer poured
And the helicopters overhead roared
As a savage belligerence
Cut through the soothing radiance
Of that chilly , starry night.
It was bizarre
Humans had gone too far
Had unmasked their designs vile
A peace fragile
On that Parisian chilly night
When the stars overhead sparkled bright.
Outside the concert hall
A tiny dove cowered in fright
Empathizing with a shoe
Orphaned and lost
On the street
On another gore-drenched dawn.