Midnight hangs above the Homeland halls,
Senate doors slam, nothing moves at all.
White House, Dems, locked in iron jaws,
Fighting over how to police our laws.
They’re asking for warrants, cameras on the chest,
Since blood hit Minneapolis, no one rests.
TSA waiting, FEMA bracing in the dark,
Coast Guard scanning every restless spark.
Sources:
Sirens on the fault line, thunder in our bones,
Headlines like a landslide rolling through our homes.
Hearts aren’t borders and truth won’t be contained,
We’re the chorus in the street, we’re the unchained.
Raise your voice, make it bite,
Turn the night into a warning light.
Tom Homan says the surge is through,
Minneapolis breathes, but the storm blew through.
Renee Good, Alex Pretti—names we won’t forget,
Candles in the rain where the pavement’s wet.
Crowds took the corners, coast to coast,
Governor Walz called the damage gross.
Relief for the shops with shuttered doors,
Public trust falling through the floors.
Sources:
A jury weighed the tape and shut the gate,
No charges for the six they tried to freight.
Mark Kelly calls it straight from the playbook’s page,
“Authoritarian lines,” he names the stage.
Even on the right, a sigh of air,
The gavel’s echo says: beware.
Sources:
Sirens on the fault line, thunder in our bones,
Headlines like a landslide rolling through our homes.
Hearts aren’t borders and truth won’t be contained,
We’re the chorus in the street, we’re the unchained.
Raise your voice, make it bite,
Turn the night into a warning light.
Kyiv wakes to fire in the sky,
Windows shake and children cry.
A family lost where the ashes cling,
An ambulance felled by a droning wing.
Across the line, a refinery burns,
Smoke writes a message as the planet turns.
A “Board of Peace” hung in gilded ease,
But allies step back from the stage’s freeze.
Sources:
Pezeshkian steps to the mourning ground,
Says “ashamed before the people,” voice unbound.
A promise to help where the black cloth waves,
Too many names, too many graves.
He swears no quest for a secret crown,
As talks with the West circle up and down.
Candles flicker on a revolution’s day,
Grief still walking a hard, old way.
Sources:
A mother is gone from a Tucson night,
A doorbell’s eye torn out of sight.
Blood in the foyer, a family’s plea,
A host on the air with a heart at sea.
The Bureau prints a phantom face,
Tips pour in at a frantic pace.
A ransom ghost slips through the sieve,
Crypto crumbs where the letters live.
Sources:
This is the hum beneath the breaking news,
The pulse between the bombs and breaking shoes.
From border vans to city squares,
From courtroom oaths to siren flares,
We stitch the truth with a barbed-wire thread,
Sing for the living, say the names of the dead.
Sirens on the fault line, thunder in our bones,
Headlines like a landslide rolling through our homes.
Hearts aren’t borders and truth won’t be contained,
We’re the chorus in the street, we’re the unchained.
Raise your voice, make it bite,
Turn the night into a warning light.
Turn the night into a warning light—
And ride the roar into the breaking light.
