Hypnotic Gemayzeh
 During the war,
 They would dress up,
 To fight in the evening,
 And then change,
 When they came home,
 To party away,
 What remained of the night,
 To the beats,
 Of music and bullets.
 Fight hard, play hard,
 Beirut would say,
 And there was something hypnotic,
 To the mixing,
 Of life and death,
 Each evening.
 Life was compressed,
 Like liqueur, like a cocktail,
 Life was squeezed,
 Into moments, into the night,
 Which is all they had,
 All we have.
 Now, they try to sell cocktails,
 Try and mix Beirut,
 On the streets of Gemayzeh,
 But it is not the same,
 It is not as hypnotic,
 As in a single evening,
 A single breath,
 That mixing of life and death.