my friend the mayor

My friend the mayor passed away.
He was a fine lad, that I can say.
He praised the poor and the old,
he was the one that could be told
about women and children and such,
always a sensitive matter to touch.

Hear hear, you might say, that's correct.
About the mayor there's an important fact.
He loved giving money away
and everyday he did pray
for the poor and the old, don't mention.
To woman and child he payed attention.

Oh, and almost I forgot about that:
My poor friend the mayor, the lad,
passed away on the lap of a prostitute,
she in fact under age but resolute,
her mother bad-tempered,
yet the mayor well-pampered.

And when the mother eventually died
and the girl was left in desperate plight,
the mayor, the lad, just answered and said:
"Poor girl, now, I advice you to let
go of your mother and return to more
important matters on the mayor's shore."

So I concede, on his funeral day
in the evening of a monday in may
I didn't see many smiling faces.
There have never been more desperate cases
of betrayed trust and hope
on a graveyard's rolling slope.

• Lire d´autres travaux de Norman Möschter
• Envoye l´email à Norman Möschter