Lakás and Gandá,
Whose names sounded noble,
Had secret accounts
—Pound, dollar and rouble—
In vaults ’cross the world:
Loot that this odd couple
Had amassed and stashed
Hidden from their people.
Their parties were world-class
And impressed royalties
While the land all around them
Teemed with hovels and shanties.
They did as they pleased
They snuffed liberties…
The rabble who cried ‘No!’
Got slapped penalties.
The world was her oyster,
The planet her playground,
All her dreams had come true,
For a prince she had found.
She cared not at all
That Lakás fooled around,
Seeking fair treasures,
Not just gold in the ground.
And Lakás has passed on,
Gandá’s all alone,
Polishing her sandals,
Counting all her stones.
She kneels at the altar
Pilgrimages to Rome
To pray that she holds on
To her flesh and her bones.
Now the people they ruled
Are as poor as before…
No, even much poorer
And of hunger, there’s more.
The hopeless have long fled
To some far-away shore
While that mad couple’s curse
Lingers on like a sore.
