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The Governor

Updated on July 2, 2016

Above the dungeon reclines the church

To crown the church, the governor’s heavenly residence

Sitting like the symbol of a monarch’s tyranny

He howls his hymns to the constant rhythm

Of blood dripping staccato from the tips of whips

To the gaping mouth of the cold floor of the church

Hymns inspired by the organ of groans and moans

That rumble feebly from weeping and gnashing teeth beneath

In the evening the governor rides to his balcony

Straight from the last meditation

After fornicating with the greedy chiefs

Who watch the sparkle of worthless glass beads

Through poisonous bottles of cheap rum and sing, “yes sir”

For entertainment he selects from the slaves below

The daintiest of slave-girls to fill his fancy

Somebody’s daughter, another’s wife

Scrubbed sore and raw they are marched naked

Far beyond the church to his lair

Where he rapes them after saying grace

He carouses until the beginning of day

And rushes away with his clothes off

To arrive early for the morning devotion

Where he prays for strength and wealth

For full dungeons and fuller ships

For family and pets across the ocean

And for the best slave girl or boy for the night


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