Newsmen feast. They relish as they champ and chomp
He rides a steed of duty-tortured mourning
His dear, belov’d mama is dead
And sorrows line the contours of his eyes
Sincerity is trodden as they romp
Through all and every great and tiny thing
Millionfold repeats the done and said
But sorrows line the contours of his eyes
Flummery cascades, and overweening pomp
God save the hurting of a sad man King
From this insistent and almighty dread
Though sorrows line the contours of his eyes
Al Barz
Al Barz 