The Ballad of Thirty-Four Counts

The summer sun beat down on the isle of Manhattan stone, But the hottest room in the whole wide town held a man who sat alone. He'd built his towers of glass and gold, put his name up in the sky, But twelve good folks, a story's told, were chosen to ask him why. They came from jobs and city blocks, the baker and the clerk, To sit inside a wooden box and do a solemn work. Oh, the gavel fell like thunder on a quiet afternoon, Thirty-four times pulled him under, by the light of a city moon. Not for the crown or the deals he'd spun, but the ledgers he'd redrawn,

A jury from the people said, "The deed is done." And a chapter in the books is gone. Half the country raised a cheer, cried, "No one stands above the law!" The other half, they shed a tear and spoke of what they saw. A crooked trial, a witch's hunt, a system weaponized, While battle lines were drawn upfront behind the nation's eyes. The airwaves cracked with rage and doubt, from every single side, While the man who'd lost just walked right out, with nowhere left to hide. Oh, the gavel fell like thunder on a quiet afternoon,

Thirty-four times pulled him under, by the light of a city moon. Not for the crown or the deals he'd spun, but the ledgers he'd redrawn, A jury from the people said, "The deed is done." And a chapter in the books is gone. This old guitar has heard the tale of powerful men and pride, Who ride the storm and hoist the sail, then get swept up by the tide. And all the while the sun still burns, the western states are dry, A new machine just sits and learns beneath an empty sky. But a simple count on paper thin, a choice 'tween wrong and right,

Is a story that will long begin again in dark and light. And the gavel fell like thunder on a quiet afternoon, Thirty-four times pulled him under, by the light of a city moon. Not for the crown or the deals he'd spun, but the ledgers he'd redrawn, A jury from the people said, "The deed is done." And a chapter in the books is gone.