From the East, a wyrm doth rise, clad in soviet guise,
In Moldova's lands, he weaves his lies, of Europe's sun, he shuns its rise.
Ilan Shor, his name as whispered in night’s fearful sigh,
A serpent slithers, in shadow, he plies, upon the government, his roguish eyes.
In Kyiv, lo! Arrives the mighty eagle from the West,
His talons sharp, his plumage, America's crest.
Lloyd Austin, the Pentagon's chief, fair Ukraine's requested guest,
Yet on war's demand, he keeps close to his chest.
In the South, where Mariupol's steel towers kiss the sky,
Where once was conflict, now riches lie.
A Chechen warlord, under Moscow's watchful eye,
Claimeth spoils of war, as flames dance and sparks fly.
