Filiberto Ojeda Ríos did not need to die.
Elma Beatriz Rosado saw the blood come out,
Nobody cried, nobody cared for an old fart.
The bullet did not kill him, he was left to bleed
The autopsy confirmed what we most feared.
The FBI lured an old man-must pay for his crime
Jail time was not enough, loose ends must be tied.
Twenty-two years later, he was hunted down,
Beaten, shot, his river waters got dry.
We all know he could had been saved, but
Don't cry for my country, my country will cry.
Some will scorn the mourners, some will not care.
Puerto Rico's Athenaeum will hold his remains.
Some feel safer that this man is dead.
The School of Lawyers seems to disagree, instead
They hold his body so that everyone can see,
The country is crying for Filiberto's spilled blood.
Theories abound, right and left,
The Governor thought it might be best.
Seventy-two years of history down the drain,
From one hundred and seven-the yoke did not erase.
The Spirit rises with the soul of a man
Don't cry for my country-no one can.