The Weaver's Old Tune

Gather ‘round and listen close, I'll sing of what I see Beneath the Capitol's white dome, for all the world to be. A Speaker named Mike Johnson holds a gavel in his hand But a whisper from his own side sweeps across the troubled land. A motion's filed, a challenge made, a crack right in the stone A brother turns against his brother's plan, to leave him all alone. Oh, the wheel of the world keeps on turning The same old fires keep on burning

With new names for the hope and the yearning It's the weaver's old tune I've been learning. Down on Wall Street, men in suits all watch the numbers climb While the Federal Reserve is trying to buy the people time. They talk of rates and cooling down the price of bread and gas But the worry in a poor man's eyes is a shadow that will pass From father down to son it goes, this tightening of the purse Some say it's getting better now, some swear it's getting worse.

Oh, the wheel of the world keeps on turning The same old fires keep on burning With new names for the hope and the yearning It's the weaver's old tune I've been learning. On Columbia's greenest lawns, the tents are staked in rows The passion of the young heart is a wind that always blows. With signs held high for distant lands and voices loud and clear They argue over ancient wrongs and what they ought to fear.

The lines are drawn, the chants begin, a story I have known When the anger of a generation's finally overgrown. The politician with his vote, the banker with his chart The student with a righteous cause etched deeply in their heart. They all believe their fight is new, their struggle is unique But I see the ghosts of ages past in every word they speak. Oh, the wheel of the world keeps on turning The same old fires keep on burning

With new names for the hope and the yearning It's the weaver's old tune I've been learning.