God Save Peñuela
Doctor, dear doctor, what do you have for me?
Will you cure with
your magic salts, brought from the sea?
Or will it be the herbs brought from France?
Or roses, said to cure all but romance.
Doctor, dear doctor, though ash fills the skies,
I can already hear our joyful cries.
I know you will find a way
To keep the black death at bay.
Doctor, dear doctor, why isn’t it working?
You don’t answer, even though I keep asking.
The aches only seem to grow.
Why are you filled with sorrow?
Doctor, oh doctor, why do you weep?
The reaper seems to be calling me.
Darling, don’t cry.
I know that you tried.