A Fabricated Myth Poem by Tengre Asasiun Gurun Tengre

Even a bribee, dying on the cliff
Then all his faults're forgotten and be the myth.
During he's living, his all the friends sniff
The chunks of meat and left him. As a monolith
Was weathered by the winds, he gave way by the criticism.
His close friends and supporters joined the criticism.

On the articles, many columnists recommended
To him, the death and others wielded the tongue-knives.
His lawyer's far away, and his life's ended,
Then the situation saved other's lives.
His death covered all his and family's faults.
He's worshiped as the Polaris and to be the salts.

When founding him on the foot of the cliff, Why
Did the bodyguard carry him on his back, instead
Of calling the chopper, when he's going to die?
Why did he carry him by sedan, instead
Of calling the ambulance. It's very mysterious,
To a well-trained man, it's clumsy and mysterious.

At any case, without the autopsy,
His body's burnt out with all the suspicion,
Being buried in his hometown, and it's made as a sanctuary
By his double-faced friends and supporters, not his decision.
A fake priest called him a Jesus when he's on the throne,
But no his will, his death made him from informality to the throne.