The Weary Singer's Refrain

In a Manhattan court, the air was tight, Beneath the glare of artificial light. A former president, a name of gold, A story bought, a secret sold. The jury spoke, their voices plain, Thirty-four counts, like falling rain. The gavel cracked, the verdict read, On the winding path that power once had led. Oh, the headlines shout and the seasons turn,

Another page, another lesson learned. From courtroom halls to dusty plains, The same old song in new refrains. The powerful fall, the storm winds blow, It's just a story that I know. The southern sky turned green and grey, And swept the heart of Texas away. The sirens wailed in Arkansas, Ignoring nature's angry laws.

A twister's finger touched the ground, Left splintered homes without a sound. They search the rubble, call a name, In a timeless, devastating game. Oh, the headlines shout and the seasons turn, Another page, another lesson learned. From courtroom halls to dusty plains, The same old song in new refrains. The powerful fall, the storm winds blow,

It's just a story that I know. But a neighbor brings a pot of stew, A stranger helps to see you through. They raise a roof beam to the sky, With a weary hope that will not die. For every storm, a steady hand, To build again upon the land. The bankers meet in suits of gray, To talk about your take-home pay.

They speak of points and whisper rates, And seal the common people's fates. The price of gas, the cost of bread, The worried thoughts inside your head, Just numbers on a distant screen, A quiet, slow, unraveling scene. Oh, the headlines shout and the seasons turn, Another page, another lesson learned. From courtroom halls to dusty plains,

The same old song in new refrains. The powerful fall, the storm winds blow, It's just another story that I know.