To think we were once in awe of that tyrannical infant
Even thought he was beautiful
Said his long hair was amber grain

Yet we can’t deny we admired his daring
That he thrilled us in parade
Covered by royalty’s long cloak of purple mountains

But now we see
And turn away from his hideous face
To survey the chaos that is our inheritance

Heavy silence weaves its shroud
Accompanied by liberty’s faint dirge
Drifting on the wind from the east

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