The Gavel in New York

In a city of steel, where the tall towers gleam, A former king lived out a fever dream. The month of May was drawing to its end, A message the twelve were preparing to send. He sat in a courtroom, with a world-famous scowl, While the ghost of an election started to howl. A story was told of a payment in haste, A scandal the powerful wanted erased. A ledger, a pen, and a business of lies, Watched over by twelve pairs of ordinary eyes. They weighed every truth, every doubt, every plea,

To write down a line of new history. And the gavel fell hard in a New York afternoon, Under a pale and indifferent moon. Thirty-four times, the word 'Guilty' did ring, A ballad of judgment the papers all sing. A president's chapter, a historical stain, A story you'll hear on the wind and the rain. Half of the country, they raised up a glass, Said, "Justice is done, the long shadow has passed." The other half cursed it, a shame and disgrace, A political hunt in a high-stakes race.

The lines have been drawn in the silicon and sand, Across this divided and passionate land. Now the sentencing waits under July's hot sun, Another new chapter has only just begun. I've seen this tale told on a much smaller stage, A powerful man in a powerful rage. The law is a river, it bends and it flows, But where it is heading, nobody knows. And the gavel fell hard in a New York afternoon, Under a pale and indifferent moon. Thirty-four times, the word 'Guilty' did ring,

A ballad of judgment the papers all sing. A president's chapter, a historical stain, A story you'll hear on the wind and the rain.