Primordial sands that frame the mighty fortress,

Settle in the folds of fighter’s war-dress.

Staggering past the ramparts and the lifeless,

She searches him about the Casbah’s axis.

Returning late in freedom’s frantic trances,

She’d known he wished to join their zealous dances.

And so no tears were shed; he’d be received;

A martyr for the holy undefeated.

Alas! When sparked, the revolution’s fuses,

He’d hid among the brothel’s perfumed muses.