The Man On The Roof It's getting dark It's every time we need Into the night It's every time we bleed Closing my eyes Pictures of old affaire Where is the false We're driving to nowhere The man on the roof The man on the roof Is it mistake In every time we want To play these games In every time they taunt The man on the roof is Waiting for coming rain Waiting for the truth It came too late again The man on the roof The man on the roof credits released September 26, 2023

Brothers and Swans Du hast mir ein Trampolin geschenkt Jeder Tag mit kleinen Worten, ich denk` an deine Augen, die warten bis dass diese Welt sich wieder dreht hat deine Sprache ein Sprungtuch gewebt, ich stell es auf im Garten Die Fasern gespannt halten wir Abstand Singschwäne ziehn` am Himmel dahin Mute I was once my brothers were swans the battle within brings forth our wing I can see the landscape in your eyes I`m in your vision now on both sides I wish that I had a vision Du schaust mir nicht zu, als ich dann spring denn große Worte sind nicht dein Ding aber das weiss ich inzwischen Die Fasern gespannt halten wir Abstand Singschwäne ziehn` am Himmel dahin Mute I was once my brothers were swans the battle within brings forth our wing Please lay down your weapon and crown where words cease, their sense will make a difference Mute we were once, and brothers in arms the battle within the wars seen and unseen peace is our wing sing brother sing

I have a knife I have a knife I have a choice It’s sharp It’s Slice and dice Carrots for my dinner Or start a fight Become a sinner OR: I have a knife I have a gun I have a choice To use the gun Or use my voice I find a stone To built a home Not to erect a gilded throne Not to throw and punish force a life to vanish A weapon is not what I choose A Kalashnikov only has one use To abuse From Palestine to Belarus People want to live in peace Be spared the dictators toxic sneeze Instead Make love Make cheese Become a dentist Make new teeth Create a masterpiece But a gun is a gun Is a gun Is a gun Is a gun Nothing but a gun It’s the end The big illusion Senseless Military intrusion The grand finale No solution Stop making them Stop faking them As toys for boys Stop selling them Stop shelling Sister, mother, father and brother

The hospital are full, they have no supplies Civilians are dying There's protest for, there's protests against But the biggest powers drop bombs What are we supposed to do Where do we go from here will it end x 2 Living in fear, a daily struggle Civilians are dying They tried to hold talks, to get a ceasefire But the bigger powers drop more bombs We don't hear about it in the news It's ordinary people that lose their lives When will it end x2 There's a shortage of water, there's a shortage of food Civilians are dying People try to live, in their bombed out homes But still the biggest powers drop more bombs

From Gaza to Shakespeare, Help me, my friend, how can you be present after more than 500 years? You jump before my eyes with every image and every cry. I hear you screaming with the children and sharing their crying with the mothers. Dressed in black like Hamlet's father, emerging from under the rubble carrying a child's toy. You appear from above the church bells ringing them, warning of their destruction. Standing above a minaret, when nothing remains of the mosque except it. Trying to help those who fell in a hospital courtyard. You are present everywhere as if a group of ghosts has split up to force the world to stop the massacres and ethnic cleansing that are happening in Gaza. This is not a war, but something else. When the witches predicted that Birnam Woods would move to King Macbeth's palace. It is as if you are predicting that Gaza City will move to the sea after all this destruction and death. There is not a house or building left that is not destroyed along with its residents. It is as if you predicted that Gaza would move to the sea. But when the forest moved, the soldiers won. Will it be the destroyed buildings laden with cement and iron and the thousands of bodies still under the rubble of children, women, the elderly, and the fathers, all those pure souls that will inevitably be swept into the sea after the end of the war, as is the custom of all buildings after every war? But the difference this time is that the buildings are mixed with flesh and blood, and will be baptized by the sea. As if the price of our freedom, which we struggled for, more than seventy years, was this baptism towards freedom. I do not know why the saying of the occupation Prime Minister Rabin comes back to mind. How I wish I would wake up to find Gaza swallowed by the sea. Was everything that happened planned? Did you, Shakespeare, know that the price of freedom is the movement of cities and forests? And that still water is stagnant water? Yes, if this is the price of our freedom and dignity, we will pay it with appreciation, respect, and a desire to go towards the sun. Was aviation included in the movement as well? The body of my friend Majed flew 100 meters into the air, and his body ended up on the balcony of an apartment, torn apart by a missile that killed him together with 120 members of his family. The war was not a Mid-Summer Night’s Dream, but rather a terrifying, weeping nightmare. The main players of the show were some clowns, including airplanes, tanks, and battleships, throwing lava at children. How could you, William Shakespeare, write us in Romeo and Juliet and warn us of the ugliness of conflict and war between cousins and that everyone will pay the price? The vision has changed, my friend. It has become much more difficult. The sound of rockets makes the heart jump in fear. The smell of gunpowder and carcinogenic smoke forcibly penetrates your lungs. Phosphorus bombs, which are banned internationally, burn the green and dry land. Seeing your loved ones in pieces. Your heart that is torn a thousand times every day as if it were a piece of rubber. Get up, Shakespeare. Help me, my friend. I'm really tired. Resist with your wise pen, full of love, joy, revolution, humanity, hope, and freedom openly, maybe we will all become brothers under that blue sky. Ali Abu Yassin 5/11/2023

Black creatures with wings Circle my dreams through the night A red telephone rings in a box As a suspicious eyes spy A siren's wail Cuts the air Fear pierced Pale faces Turn and stare A stain so black A poison river feeds And it's Pouring out of My TV And while we dream Guns echo in streets And while we sleep Civilians flee So breathe Breathe In white rooms In grey buildings With yellow bulbs Burning too bright White men With grey faces Are plotting A nations demise Like vultures gather In the air Over fresh white bone And flesh laid bare War, profiteers With sly wide grins Over slick black gold And rich pickings And while we dream Guns echo in streets And while we sleep Civilians flee So Breathe Breathe

Ardas bhaee, Amar das guru, Amar das guru, Ardas bhaee, Ram das guru, ram das guru, ram das guru Sachee sahee

If I must die, you must live to tell my story to sell my things to buy a piece of cloth and some strings, (make it white with a long tail) so that a child, somewhere in Gaza while looking heaven in the eye awaiting his dad who left in a blaze— and bid no one farewell not even to his flesh not even to himself— sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above and thinks for a moment an angel is there bringing back love If I must die let it bring hope let it be a tale.