Dirt poor, low life lackey,
The son of nobody,
Gutter rat, poverty hugger,
Hardly a warm meal to eat;

But blessed by fate,
With power to stir minds,
Wielding instruments of revolution,
The gates of authority swing open;

Carried on the shoulder of the impoverished,
Feet washed in their blood,
Backed by their relentless hope,
And annointed by their faith;

Alas! Comrade turned traitor,
Refusing to yield the people's mandate,
Trampling on the same spirits,
That oiled your rise to prominence.