This, my friend, is Herman Cain.
Will you help him through the rain?
Under lighted poll glass stare,
Will he be safe anywhere?
Uncharted allegations fly
From the whim of bough and brigh,
From the prism's speckled gleam.
Still, once hopefuls aren't redeemed.
Of gloom and gluss, they lie in Limbo,
Whilst parrot heads, though nil but nimble,
Seek not to comfort nor console
Nary-a-one's bespeck'led soul.
"There isn't one can see me through,"
One may once holler back at you,
Whose sins you'd ab-solve, not retain,
And dry him, quickly, of the rain.
- AWM, "The Hitler of Iran"