Citizens and land, mapped in blots.Padre to them restored:By the benevolent: the despot.Foretold by the soothsayerHe won, matching dot to dot.
Creaking, turnThe tired wheels of historyChurning known misery,Oft repeating.
This is the tale of a manAnd the homeland: Padre.
For the worldHe will smileFor cameras and reportersThe performance will cater.
Truths he spoke,A man self-assured,Craft has taught him, he has matured.
Words rolled forth like the splendid carpet he walked on.Citizens gazed aheadTheir hearts twist,Tortured to not break the spellOf peace, this fortuned tryst.
For themselves and countryPlates half empty.They worked for their bread.Silence, for you suffered Padre,And plenty.
Presumptuous, the dark massesTook for granted he was good.But alas there rose a man from the middle classWho saw through political farce.
In search of salvationLong they adored the villainTill one in the crowd decided to kill him.