Every day we die, and steps burn, and an imperfect phoenix is ​​born, then we live to be killed again, my country. We come to you as prisoners and dead. And Sirhan was a prisoner of wars, and a prisoner of peace. On the wall of captivity, he read the news of his revolution behind the leg of a singing woman. Life was normal, and vegetables were smuggled from the foreheads of slaves to the orators. What is the difference between stones and martyrs? And Sirhan was the food of wars, and he was the food of peace. On the wall of captivity, his body was put up for auction. And in the Arab diaspora, they say: What is the difference between invaders and tyrants? And Sirhan was killed in wars, and he was killed in peace.