O Son Of Bloody Tyrants' Gender
Unable To Show Guilt, Remorse Or Signs Of Surrender
Stalks Up And Down In Hith Ivory Tower
Posing Unpertubed Inmidst Thee Fictive Pillars Of Power
Purveyor Of Death Squads, Henchmen And Thugs
Who Squelch Thy Subjects' Lives As If They Were Bugs
Resides At Candle Litten Dinners With Thy Wife
Marvelling Thy Countenance Mirrored In The Blade Of A Knife
Hush! A Shred Of Memory Roaming Around
Brings Back Thee Olde Continent's Sound
Clanking Crystal In Thee Halls Of Thee Famous
Closeth For Each And Every Ignoramus
Times Of Esteem And Rendering Homage
Collecting Many Salvoes And A Huge Apanage
Times Which Belong Irrevocably To Thee Past
Becoming A Persona Non Grata At Last
Ding Dong! Thee Door Bell's Heralding A Guest
An Olde Lady From The New World's West
Standing Outside On The Palace's Mat
Maketh Her Attendance Soliciting A Chat
Thee Tyrant Sees Hith Golden Chance To Shape
Hith Personal Wonderland As A Way To Escape
Thee Imputations Swirling Through Thee Global Air
Telling Thee Olde Lady That Foul Is Fair
Hith Calculating Charme's Polluting Thee Room
And Hith Subjects Awaits Another Day Of Doom
Sacrificing A Lot For Their Freedom Wishes
While Thee Tyrant's Attendants Removing Thee Dishes
O Son Of Supremacists' Dynasty
Thy Efforts Are Useless No Chances To Flee
From Thy Inevitable Destiny
Thee Ghosts Thou Hath Send Are Returning To Thee ..
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