Beirut
   of the loveless night,
   how sweet the well-spring
   of your voice, flower-scented,
   I rejoice.

   Your houses
   of powdered stone has heard
   the marching
   feet of those who died;
   the rumbling guns, distant cries,
   Beirut
   fill me with your love.

   Face of beauty, angel light;
   we meld our tears, sate our fears,
   stay huddled
   through the endless night;
   war is such a lonely place.

   Beirut
   I will hold you near
   inside the trenches of my fear.
   Rising to the thunderous din
   your voice calls out,
   our love is born of war
   ...not sin.

   Beirut
   now the war has died,
   smoldering under hills of ash,
   No more to fight on battlefields,
   for now I hear across the sea,
   those loved ones where I long to be.

   Beirut
   in that time and place,
   through smoke
   and shellfire wooing death,
   our hearts embraced and love endowed
   those fleeting moments war allowed.

   And now the time to say good-bye,
   no more  to know the moment ours,
   our love
   burned bright in darkest hours
   and now
   the dawning of the light,
   will take us back to other lives.