Lima

Perched on a cliff, Towering from the sea. Embracing a cool breeze; Lima is the city. Miles of pueblo jovenes, Surround her heart. Like a flock of sheep, Not wanting to part. Slums lay there In shades of beige. When they really want Be red with rage. In Cono Sur Dreams fade in and out. Children run free; Through fields of drought. In hillsides huts Families strive With endless hope But never thrive. Fear falls upon Their honest faces Perils of reality dawn In this dangerous place. So different from The city's heart; In these forgotten slums People fail to start. In Miraflores, Privileged are the people. Abundant are the shops And churches with steeples. Men here hold keys To an absolute power. With steel arms of might All they do is devour. Climbing up the submit On backs of their countrymen They control liberty Through venal assemblymen . The streets are wide Lined with houses of white. Men pruning hedges How lovely a sight. Life in Lima Is a glimmering façade. Most live in slums Or her many esplanades. This is the Lima They want all to see. Grand desert city Down by the sea.