Since the risings started there are many tales you could tell
One person’s liberation may be another’s prison cell
When authority collapses, many things can take its place
Sectarian nightmares and liberated space
Some are hunting for the heathens, set to form a Caliphate
Some are fighting for their survival, and for a socialist state
Such as in the north of Syria, just south of PKK
A city’s name that’s whispered in the wind — Kobane

The town grew up with the railway from Baghdad to Berlin
Soon became a refuge for those fleeing the Sultan
In Syria they called it Land of the Arab Spring
No one knew what movements history would bring
A city full of Kurdish people divided from the rest
Cut off to the east, forsaken by the West
The only sensible thing to do was run away
But instead thousands stood and fought — Kobane

Students met in Suruc, wise beyond their years
And the leaders of the world all shed crocodile tears
When the bombs went off they said this cannot stand
The same ones who kept the aid out from those who’d try to lend a hand
The same men who kept the aid out, the very same ones
Who didn’t want the PYG to have ammo for their guns
As to the future of the city, no one alive can say
But its name sails across the borders — Kobane

“Kobane” appears on the 2015 CD, The Other Side.

I wrote “Kobane” after the suicide bombing attack in the town of Suruc, Turkey, just across the border from Kobane, Syria.  The bombing was blamed on Islamic State.  Turkish government collaboration with IS is widely suspected within the Kurdish community.  Most of the victims were young men and women from across Turkey who had come to Suruc to hold a conference to organize aid in war-torn Syria.