The Ballad of the 34 Counts

In the canyons of Manhattan, where the steel towers gleam, A former king in a courtroom lived a most unlikely dream. The city hummed its busy tune, the world went on its way, While history held its breath to hear what twelve good souls would say. They spoke of storms and hidden cash, a story to be buried, Of ledgers falsified and truth that wouldn't be miscarried. For weeks they sat and listened, as the evidence was laid, A tapestry of choices that a powerful man had made.

Oh, the gavel didn't fall, just a voice so calm and low, Reading out the verdict, for all the world to know. Thirty-four times the word rang out, a bell you couldn't mute, Guilty on the paper, guilty in the suit. Twelve faces from the city, from the subways and the streets, Weighed the fate of an empire in their ordinary seats. No crowns, no thrones, no armies, just a duty to be done, Beneath the seal of justice, a race was lost and won.

Now half the country's shouting, and the other half in tears, And the long road to November is paved with hopes and fears. But the storyteller just tunes his strings, with a weary, knowing sigh, He's seen kings rise and seen them fall beneath a watchful sky. Oh, the gavel didn't fall, just a voice so calm and low, Reading out the verdict, for all the world to know. Thirty-four times the word rang out, a bell you couldn't mute, Guilty on the paper, guilty in the suit.