In the cold of Minneapolis, they packed up and rolled,
After nights of street clashes and a pair of souls gone cold.
Homan says the handshake’s real, locals and feds aligned,
But marches pound the pavement, justice on their mind.
Noem straps on body cams, red lights start to glow,
Frey says it’s not enough—end the surge, let it go.
Sources:
Hold the line, don’t look away,
When the world frays at the seams today.
Raise your voice, make it loud,
Through smoke and silence, cut the cloud.
If the night feels like it’s closing in,
Keep the lamps of truth lit from within.
The last lock on the thunder finally slipped its chain,
For the first time since détente’s dawn, no caps remain.
The UN calls it grave, a shadow on the sky,
Trump wants a newer pact with Beijing standing by.
Moscow says it’s unbound, but leaves a door ajar—
Empty launchpads whisper to a restless star.
Sources:
Hold the line, don’t look away,
When the world frays at the seams today.
Raise your voice, make it loud,
Through smoke and silence, cut the cloud.
If the night feels like it’s closing in,
Keep the lamps of truth lit from within.
After days of whiplash signals, they chose the desert air,
Tehran said change the venue, keep it nuclear, keep it square.
From across the Arab sunrise came a plea to stay the course,
The White House shows up wary, with a distant threat of force.
In a room by the water, hope and heat collide—
Ink meets iron, while the hawks circle wide.
Sources:
A gavel fell in Florida, the verdict hard as stone,
Routh bound to live with bars for violence he had sown.
A letter spelled his purpose, cold and calculated lines,
The judge named evil plainly, drew unforgiving signs.
The nation’s top attorney called it a strike at our core,
The defense says this story will climb one court more.
Sources:
Hold the line, don’t look away,
When the world frays at the seams today.
Raise your voice, make it loud,
Through smoke and silence, cut the cloud.
If the night feels like it’s closing in,
Keep the lamps of truth lit from within.
A fever rides the highways from the upstate pines,
It found a nursery ward, it found the factory lines.
Most who caught the fire never took the shield,
Now clinics hum like engines, sleeves rolled in the field.
Even in ICE halls, warnings cross the floor,
Elimination’s halo may not crown us anymore.
Sources:
Ink runs thin in Washington, desks stand bare and still,
Sports boxed up in silence, books and pods gone chill.
Foreign beats fall quiet, fewer boots on foreign ground,
Murray blames the search storms and the rise of coded sound.
The Guild cries out for substance, for trust that won’t erode,
While Bezos wears the echoes of a shrinking, shaken load.
Sources:
From body cams to treaty scraps,
From desert talks to courtroom maps,
From needles raised to deadened feeds,
We’re counting on each other more than leads.
Hold the line, don’t look away,
When the world frays at the seams today.
Raise your voice, make it loud,
Through smoke and silence, cut the cloud.
If the night feels like it’s closing in,
Keep the lamps of truth lit from within.
Turn the cams on, turn the warheads down,
Meet in the desert, set the anchors in the ground.
Shots in the arm, ink back in town,
If the presses dim, we’ll be the sound.
Turn the cams on, turn the warheads down—
Hearts like amplifiers, we won’t back down.
