SPOILER ahead (for Dylan fans)

· bodega

If you’re the type who forever after remembers the words to a song parody in the place of the actual words, consider skipping this post. The rest of it is a terror war lyric to be sung to the tune of “Visions of Johanna” by a Merry Punster known as j, with a few minor folk-drift emendations (… and ok, maybe it doesn’t all scan perfectly but what do you want from something typed up at our behest from memory after a showertime moment of inspiration followed by an attempt to repress the idea?):
Visions of Osama
Ain’t it just like the Taliban to play tricks when you’re tryin’ to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded, though we’re all doin’ our best to deny it
And Omar holds a handful of nirvana, temptin’ you to decry it
Lights flicker from the opposite caves
In this room, Osama just raves
The Pashto music plays, nay
As there’s nothing, really nothing anyway
Just Mullah and Al-Zawahri so entwined
And these visions of Osama that conquer my mind
In the empty caves where Northern Alliance play blindman’s bluff with Al Qaeda
And the night vision boys they whisper of escapades out in Tora Bora
We can hear the night watchman click his goggles
Ask himself if it’s him or them that’s minding the store-ah
Marine, he’s all right, he’s just near
You go in and we’ll cover the rear
But he just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Osama’s not here
The ghost of ‘lectricity howls in the bones of his face
Where these visions of Osama have now taken my place

Inside the Taliban, Infinity goes up on trial
Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while
But the video shiek musta had the US blues
You can tell by the way he smiles
See the primitive wallflower freeze
When the burqa-covered women all sneeze
Hear Mohammed Atta say, “Jeeze
I can’t find my knees”
Oh, virgins and martyrdom lie in the bed of the tool
But these visions of Osama, they make it all seem so cruel
The countless now speaks to the peddler who’s pretending to care for them
Sayin’, “Name me someone that’s not a parasite and I’ll go out and lay a scare for him”
But like Jihad always says
“Ya can’t look at much, can ya man?”
As death, herself, prepares for him
And nirvana, she still has not showed
We see this empty cave now corrode
Where burqas and turbans once had flowed
The Rababer, he now steps to the road
He plays ev’rything’s been returned which was owed
and the Bamiyan Buddhas implode
While my conscience explodes
The Taliban dodge skeleton keys and hard rain
And these visions of Osama are now all that remain

bodega Comments are off for this post.