A naive woman she may be.
With her finery hats and beads down her bosom,
With a wave of her hand she commands respect,
There's no lady who is as perfect as she.

Sophisticated and proud,
Maria, your hands are cold.
Let me hold them for one last time,
As you are put down to the ground.

Your life was in peril,
Because those men were immoral.

Rhyme scheme: abca