Droned into dust by a bolt ftom the sky.
It was time for Ayman al-Zawaheri to die.
This Al-Queda killer, won’t get any older.
He no longer needs to look over his shoulder.
He thought he was safe, hiding out in Kabul.
Death came calling for him out of the blue.
Hanging out on his balcony, catching some sun.
Lit-up by the lightning, He’s blown apart scum.
This sends a message, to terrorist thugs.
Wherever you’re hiding we can pick out your mugs.
Then when least expected, death comes calling.
The sky opens up and a missile is falling.
One with your name, stamped on it’s nose.
One that will blow you out of your clothes.
Good riddance to Zawaheri, rest in pieces, Ayman.
You’re not even safe in the heart of Iran.
The Taliban couldn’t protect you, nor can any Mullah.
We’ll send you a ticket to a Terrorist Valhallah.
Let this send a message, to your successor.
To any Al-Queda, self-professed, professor.
The eye in the sky, will find you some day.
Then a drone you can’t see, will blow you away.
D.L. Crockett — 8/3/22