The Storyteller's Song

The microphones are humming low, the banners fly on a bitter wind Two houses shouting, row on row, for a fight they can't begin to win They promise change with a steady hand, they draw their lines out in the sand And the calendar keeps turning slow, with a long, long way to November's snow. And the old man with the worn guitar, he sings by the flickering light Says I've heard this story near and far, every morning, noon, and night The ink is new but the page is old, a tale of brave and a tale of bold

The headlines scream a different name, but the heart of the story is the same. The price of bread and gasoline, a worry in a tired sigh From a tower tall and seldom seen, a man decides if rates get high Jerome Powell speaks and the markets shake, for goodness and for heaven's sake Just trying to make the numbers meet, for the tired souls on a dusty street. And the old man with the worn guitar, he sings by the flickering light Says I've heard this story near and far, every morning, noon, and night

The ink is new but the page is old, a tale of brave and a tale of bold The headlines scream a different name, but the heart of the story is the same. They built a mind from wire and code, a ghost that whispers in the cloud To carry our creative load, and think our very thoughts out loud From OpenAI to the valley's gleam, we're living out a science dream Or maybe a warning we should heed, about a strange and growing need. And the old man with the worn guitar, he sings by the flickering light

Says I've heard this story near and far, every morning, noon, and night The ink is new but the page is old, a tale of brave and a tale of bold The headlines scream a different name, but the heart of the story is the same.