The Town Crier's Tune

In a tower made of glass and stone, where the island's river runs, A jury sat to judge a man who once commanded all the suns. A former king in a tailored suit, with a legacy to guard, Faced a count of thirty-four, and every single one hit hard. From a starlet's tale to a lawyer's turn, a hush bought with a pen, The paper trail, a lesson learned, again and yet again. And now a date in hot July will seal the sentence read,

While the whole world watches, wondering what lies ahead. Oh, the ink runs dry, the sun beats high, another chapter's told, A story new for me and you, but oh, the tale is old. Of shifting power, pride, and pleas, of walls and whispered fall. It's the same old tune beneath the moon, and I've come to sing it all. Down where the Rio Grande flows thin, beneath a burning sky, A new decree says 'you can't win', don't even try to try.

The man in charge, with a heavy hand, has closed the southern gate, Says 'too many souls have crossed the sand, it's getting far too late.' So the hopeful wait and the desperate turn, in the shadow of the wall, Another promise made to burn, you can hear the echoes call. From left and right, the voices cry, 'it's not enough' or 'it's a sin', But the door stays shut to the weary eye that wants to get let in. Oh, the ink runs dry, the sun beats high, another chapter's told,

A story new for me and you, but oh, the tale is old. Of shifting power, pride, and pleas, of walls and whispered fall. It's the same old tune beneath the moon, and I've come to sing it all. The earth itself, it has a fever, the heat dome settles in, Makes a tired soul a true believer that the troubles just begin. The mercury climbs, the pavement sighs, a different kind of trial, And you see the worry in their eyes behind a fragile smile.

From the price of bread to the coming vote, it's all one tangled thread, Just different verses I can quote from the living and the dead. Oh, the ink runs dry, the sun beats high, another chapter's told, A story new for me and you, but oh, the tale is old. Of shifting power, pride, and pleas, of walls and whispered fall. It's the same old tune beneath the moon, and I've come to sing it all.