The Turning of the Wheel

In a New York tower, the gavels did fall, Thirty-four whispers echoed down the hall. A king without a crown, he stood to face the score, A story we ain't heard, but have heard before. The jury's dozen faces, lines of doubt and strain, While half the country's cheering, and half is crying shame, And the headlines scream in paper, and they glow upon the screen, Just another chapter in a well-worn, tattered scene. Oh, the turning of the wheel, my friend, the turning of the wheel,

Makes the breaking story something ancient you can feel. With a new name for the hero, and a new name for the sin, The same old winds are blowing out that brought the old winds in. The man in Washington, he holds the interest high, Says a steady hand is needed, beneath a worried sky. But the price of bread is climbing, and the mortgage payments bite, And a family counts its dollars in the pale kitchen light. They say the numbers tell a tale of things about to mend, But that ain't the story whispered at the long day's weary end,

It's a tale of making do, of stretching thin the thread, While promises of plenty fill another man's head. Oh, the turning of the wheel, my friend, the turning of the wheel, Makes the breaking story something ancient you can feel. With a new name for the hero, and a new name for the sin, The same old winds are blowing out that brought the old winds in. There's a ghost inside the wires now, a mind born of the code, It paints the pretty pictures and it lightens up the load. Some say it is the future, a helper and a guide,

Some say it is the thief where our honest jobs will hide. It learns the way we're thinking, it learns the songs we sing, We don't know what we're building or the tidings it will bring, Just a clever, quiet servant, or a master in the wings, The oldest tale of all, the pride that progress brings. But out across the heartland, the thunderheads did roll, A twister danced a fury that took a heavy toll. And neighbors pulled the splintered wood from what was once a home, Beneath the same old starlight, they weren't left to stand alone.

They plant their seeds in ashes, they raise a broken wall, 'Cause the rising of the sun don't care for judgment, king, or squall. Oh, the turning of the wheel, my friend, the turning of the wheel, Makes the human story something ancient you can feel. With a new name for the sorrow, and a new name for the win, The same old sun is coming up to let the day begin.