They say the Capitol’s trembling
like a fiddle in the rain,
’cause the man in the big chair’s shouting
and the echoes rattle the pane.
And the folks who swore to guard us
just smile and toe the line;
you’d think they’d lost the ledger
where once they kept their spine.

They check the polls at sunrise,
run the numbers twice by noon,
draft statements with disclaimers
and release them far too soon.
They talk of “ongoing processes,”
“reviews,” and “party ties,”
while the country keeps on spinning
under ever‑stranger skies.

Some say it’s like a folk tale
where the heroes miss their cue,
where the dragon’s breathing fire
and the knights just say “that’s new.”
They hold their shields behind them
as the flames begin to climb;
you’d think they’d lost the courage
that they swore on borrowed time.

And still the headlines thunder
with each fresh chaotic turn,
but the ones who ought to answer
seem reluctant to unlearn
the comfort of their silence,
the safety of their stance,
as if history won’t remember
who refused to take a chance.

So raise a glass for bravery,
wherever it’s been seen,
for the ones who speak when speaking
might just cost them something keen.
’Cause the tale keeps getting stranger
and the stakes grow more defined,
and the country needs a backbone
more than ever, so to find.