my children
my fellow prisoners
some men are false
we may deny it
true the broad day smiles
as the rain eases
but the false man
smiles so easily
and are we not always told
to give the other man
the benefit of any doubt
as he slips the acid into your wine
i claim secret knowledge today
to share with any who care
of portwine the man and his mission
under formerly levantine skies
an agent of state
and thus kryptonite safe
in warlike days gone by
portwine carried the money
over the road to old damascus
there to pay for coups and votes and arms
for virtuous men who saw their way clear
to a proper way of thinking
all this i heard from the man himself
in the presence of wonderful bunnies
at the london playboy club
over steaks and irish coffee
i assure and assert my right mind to the group
in spite of the many trips i have took
in the wilds of chelsea and saint johns wood
where the hunter rides in a cab
do you hear what they say my portwine
they will see you hanged one day
moon faced paterfamilias
an asset ahead of your time
syrian people are shouting at you
they are sticking their knives into you
and you laugh in their faces and spit out the blood
while capering over the rubble
wily portwine taught me stealth
and the joys of clandestine life
stealing old songs for new and
riding the backs of the farthest behind
on the streets of hamra people would say
are you looking for portwine the spy
he lives in hazmiyeh quite near asfouriyeh
and he really loves to get high oh yes