The Weary Traveler's Almanac

The autumn wind blows down the Mall, a chill is in the air Another deadline's coming due, with shouting and a prayer On Capitol Hill, the doors are closed, the talking's hard and fast They're fighting 'bout a budget line, a ghost of budgets past The Speaker holds a heavy gavel, the President a pen And down the wire, the tickers fly, it's shutdown talk again. Oh, the wheel it turns, the story's told, in ink and whispered word

Of promises both bought and sold, the righteous and absurd The sun comes up, the sun goes down, another page is filled It's the same old tune in a different town, on a freshly planted field. Out on the coast, the smoke still hangs, a memory of the fire While in the heartland, farmers watch the floodwaters rise higher The man from the Fed, he clears his throat, and speaks of points and rates And families watch the price of bread behind their picket gates

They say the jobs are coming back, they say the numbers lookin' strong But every dollar feels so light, and every day feels long. Oh, the wheel it turns, the story's told, in ink and whispered word Of promises both bought and sold, the righteous and absurd The sun comes up, the sun goes down, another page is filled It's the same old tune in a different town, on a freshly planted field. The glowing screens show us a world the old bards never knew

Where thinking machines can write a rhyme and paint the sky anew A rocket aims to touch a star, a new frontier to own While down below we're still just flesh, and blood, and weary bone. Oh, the wheel it turns, the story's told, in ink and whispered word Of promises both bought and sold, the righteous and absurd The sun comes up, the sun goes down, another page is filled It's the same old tune in a different town, on a freshly planted field.