She sleeps and wakes clothed in red,
her purple-stained pinky pulsing 
to a crescendo of chants

Pa’lante, Pa’lante, Pa’lante Comandante
Onward, Onward, Onward Comandante,
Uh, Ah, he isn’t going anywhere,
Uh, Ah, the day he does is when frogs grow hair

The lights go off in the barrio,
even in her wildest dreams she wears red.