Prince Of The Misty Isles

We are nearing the end of the second term of President Barack Obama, and it is well that we look back on how he got here.

Deep in the barren frozen lair, beyond the starry realm
Beyond belief, beyond compare, so steady at the helm
The ruler of all he surveys, a man of many styles
Barack the First, of magic ways, Prince of the Misty Isles
His castle built of tinseled lies, a moat of lawless acts
Where courtiers to no surprise, spin forth uncertain facts
In darkened corridors of stone, lay bodies cold to touch
They dared to speak in vulgar tone, or love him not as much
As is decreed from banners hung without the castle walls
Demanding that bronze bells be rung to chanted muezzin calls
Deep in the gloomy Misty Isles, the Magic Negro works
At lists of names that he compiles, where deadly treason lurks
He plans destruction for the land his parents clearly loathed
But time is running out of hand, so only partly clothed
In princely garb of silken rag, of ermine and of wool
His emblem on his battle flag, the feces of a bull
He left the Misty Isles by train, to huzzahs and to raves
And thus began his two term reign, his house once built by slaves

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