From Tehran to Mashhad and Yazd, the streets refuse to sleep,
The web cut down to whispers, but the chanting runs so deep.
A judge names faith as felony, the gallows in his tone,
An exiled voice says take the squares, starve engines to the bone.
Across the sea a warning growls, more thunder in the air,
Children in the crossfire, candles trembling everywhere.
Sources:
Hold on, hold on, through the smoke and the wire,
Through borders of iron and rivers of fire.
If the night throws stones, let our songs throw light—
We are small flames learning to burn bright.
A newborn weapon takes the sky and arcs toward Lviv,
A word like Oreshnik, and the boast no shield can thieve.
A winter town goes dark again, the wind becomes a blade,
They call it payback for a strike the others say they never made.
From Brussels comes a warning bell to Washington and Rome,
When thunder kisses nearest lines, all neighbors feel it in their bones.
Sources:
Hold on, hold on, through the smoke and the wire,
Through borders of iron and rivers of fire.
If the night throws stones, let our songs throw light—
We are small flames learning to burn bright.
In Victoria the sirens wail, a blackened noon at dawn,
Longwood’s roaring dragon runs and swallows hill and lawn.
“The worst is worst,” the fire chief says, “catastrophic” in his breath,
Weeks of ash and ember rain, the countryside in death.
Across the range the warnings glow, the grid goes cold and bare,
And every hose and heartbeat fights the furnace in the air.
Sources:
Hold on, hold on, through the smoke and the wire,
Through borders of iron and rivers of fire.
If the night throws stones, let our songs throw light—
We are small flames learning to burn bright.
An island made of ice and rock hears talk of easy, hard,
A promise to “do something” lands like steel upon the yard.
But leaders there say loud and clear, “we’re Greenlanders, not yours,”
And Denmark says an armed demand would crack the oldest oaths.
So diplomats take careful steps on snow that groans and sings,
Where one wrong move can break the bridge between a thousand wings.
Sources:
Hold on, hold on, through the smoke and the wire,
Through borders of iron and rivers of fire.
If the night throws stones, let our songs throw light—
We are small flames learning to burn bright.
Along the coast an old scar burns as memory takes its day,
Palisades and Eaton names still echo through the gray.
Flags dip low and pockets lift a lifeline to the lost,
A promise carved in policy to share the mounting cost.
New lines around the homesteads mark the space the flames once owned,
Clear the ring and guard the wall, so embers meet a stone.
Sources:
Hold on, hold on, through the smoke and the wire,
Through borders of iron and rivers of fire.
If the night throws stones, let our songs throw light—
We are small flames learning to burn bright.
In Vegas under neon skies, the future folds with grace,
A screen with no more wrinkle draws a gasp across the place.
Chip kings forge an iron pact to teach the mills to dream,
New cores hum, old names return, the fabs run hot with steam.
A stair-climbing cleaning bird taps rhythms on the risers,
A canvas-making TV whispers art like gentle advisors—
But under all the shining gloss, a quiet question rings:
If every badge says “AI now,” which one truly sings?
Sources:
Hold on, hold on, through the smoke and the wire,
Through borders of iron and rivers of fire.
If the night throws stones, let our songs throw light—
We are small flames learning to burn bright.
Raise it higher—over sirens, over steel—
Let the chorus be the shield, let the truth be what we feel.
Raise it higher—through the ash, through the neon signs—
Until hope breaks like morning across our fault lines.
