Sun-Ra got its fix,

A stick, not so long ago, a snake;

O, the sea imbibed its fire.

The sun, almost not, in Munster,

Man crusaded its rays,

O, the sun-shined not.

Sunrays, by a hair, on its empire,

London plumped under mist,

O, the mist imbibed its rays.

Kaiser Wilhelm too –

Fancied his place under the sun,

O, but the sun not.

This sun over the Fugees isn’t as bright,

As the sun behind;

O, the snow imbibed its rays.

This sun will not reveal,

A titillating wish,

O, what a kinky truth.

© Diabel Faye, Berlin subways, 09/02/2016

Fugees = refugees