The Weekly Wheel

In a hall made of marble, in old New York town, A man who once ruled saw his fortunes come down. The jury they gathered, their faces were plain, And spoke thirty-four counts of guilt in the rain. A hush for the money, a story was sold, Now a date set in summer, a tale to be told. Oh, the wind sings a ballad of what's come to pass, Through a digital window, a new looking-glass. The kings and the desperate, the sun and the shade,

It's the same human story, just newly remade. Down where the border meets dust, sun, and sand, The President drew a new line with his hand. Two thousand five hundred, a number, a gate, For the ones seeking asylum, a long, heavy wait. The river keeps flowing, it don't pay no mind, To the rules that are written, for the people behind. Oh, the wind sings a ballad of what's come to pass, Through a digital window, a new looking-glass.

The kings and the desperate, the sun and the shade, It's the same human story, just newly remade. A ship made of starlight, it climbed on a flame, Two souls, Butch and Suni, who whispered its name. After troubles and trials, it soared to the black, Leaving the world that they can't carry back. A long-delayed journey to dock with the stars, While we wrestle with headlines and all of our scars. And the sun beats down heavy on the cracked, thirsty ground,

A fever is rising with barely a sound. The storms in the heavens, the storms in our souls, As the old world keeps breaking and losing control. Oh, the wind sings a ballad of what's come to pass, Through a digital window, a new looking-glass. The kings and the desperate, the sun and the shade, It's the same human story, just newly remade.