The Ballad of a Tuesday Morning

The Patapsco River sleeps in the dark before the dawn A container ship, the Dali, drifts where it don't belong Lights go out, a mayday cries, a warning in the night Then steel gives way on the Francis Key in the pale morning light A ribbon road of asphalt and a hundred thousand tonsCrumbles to the water where the lonely river runs And six good men are missing, working in the cold Just another chapter in a story that's so old. Oh, the headlines turn like pages in the shifting wind A giant falls, a promise breaks, a new day must begin

From the harbor to the courthouse, the same old song I sing Of the trouble that the tide and the tongue of man can bring. High above the clouds, there flies a silver, hollow bird From a company called Boeing, where a troubled word is heard A door plug blows on an outbound flight, a hole into the sky And the people down below just start to ask the question 'why?' The boss man packs his briefcase, says the trust is wearing thin A legacy of safety where the cracks are showing in They built their wings on confidence, they sold them on their name

But a whisper of disaster sounds a lot like burning shame. Oh, the headlines turn like pages in the shifting wind A giant falls, a promise breaks, a new day must begin From the harbor to the courthouse, the same old song I sing Of the trouble that the tide and the tongue of man can bring. I've seen kings who'd shape the message, I've seen towers built on pride I've seen the strongest things we've made get swept out with the tide This ain't a brand new story, though the details feel so near It's the fear of falling down and the right to speak out clear.

In a marble hall of justice, the robed ones take a seat To argue 'bout the government and the whispers on the street But the street is made of wires now, a world behind a screen And they wonder who can quiet a voice that's sharp and keen They weigh the First Amendment, a freedom bought with blood Against a politician's fear of a digital-age flood It's a tale of power and the press, as old as ink and pen They're just drawing out the battle lines all over again. Oh, the headlines turn like pages in the shifting wind

A giant falls, a promise breaks, a new day must begin From the harbor to the courthouse, the same old song I sing Of the trouble that the tide and the tongue of man can bring.