From London to Paris to Berlin, Stockholm to The Hague,
they ran the tests, they named the sting: a dart frog’s deadly blade.
At Munich they said the science speaks, it cuts through barbed-up lies,
and Yulia’s voice rose through the storm: “Hold the killer to the light.”
They rang the bell in The Hague’s halls, a treaty torn and frayed,
means and motive, shadowed hands, and poison on parade.
Sources:
Turn up the glare, let the truth cut through the smoke,
drums of justice shaking walls until they finally choke.
From cold cells to crowded streets, we won’t look away—
raise the amp, strike the chord, let the reckoning play.
Pam Bondi cracked the vault and let the floodgates roar,
a trove of names and midnight tapes spilled across the floor.
Across the sea, a prince now faces questions from the Crown,
Mandelson dropped his ribbons, a port king laid them down.
Back home, counselors stepped aside, an old guard lost its poise,
and cameras caught the paper trail of Congress-tracking noise.
Sources:
Turn up the glare, let the truth cut through the smoke,
drums of justice shaking walls until they finally choke.
From cold cells to crowded streets, we won’t look away—
raise the amp, strike the chord, let the reckoning play.
Nancy’s porch light blinked to black, her heartbeat app went mute,
a mask at midnight on the cam, then silence in pursuit.
A glove was found beyond the gate, a whisper in the clay,
the lab says someone else was there, still ghosts refuse to say.
The feds kicked doors and hope held fast, no cuffs to end the dread,
while rivers full of tips keep running where the footprints bled.
Sources:
Turn up the glare, let the truth cut through the smoke,
drums of justice shaking walls until they finally choke.
From cold cells to crowded streets, we won’t look away—
raise the amp, strike the chord, let the reckoning play.
Geneva sets another stage, Abu Dhabi in the rear,
the White House in the corner keeps a deadline drawing near.
Rutte counts the nameless cost, says losses break the scale,
Moscow waves a captured town, another grieving tale.
Donbas lines and iron vows, the knots are steel and flame,
Paris and London stake a guard on promises and pain.
Sources:
A door in Moscow splinters wide, a quiet man goes down,
a GRU brass ring is stained, a jacket soaked in brown.
He once wore sanctions like a brand from Salisbury’s bitter day,
now joins a list of uniforms that never walked away.
Whispers point to Kyiv’s hand from older, colder nights,
in stairwells where the echo keeps the names too scared for lights.
Sources:
In Munich, winter warmed to fire, a sea of lifted hands,
they called the end of iron rule from far and distant lands.
They sang for Pahlavi to guide a bridge from crown to vote,
he faced the mics at Munich’s hall and swore to keep that note:
“I’ll take the charge the people give, to steer through storm and strife,”
as flags became a metronome for freedom’s drum and fife.
Sources:
Sirens in the distance, secrets on the wire,
peace talks at the water’s edge, a city set on fire.
Names etched into headlines, chains rattling on the rail,
we tune our strings to lightning and we ride the fragile scale.
Turn up the glare, let the truth cut through the smoke,
drums of justice shaking walls until they finally choke.
From cold cells to crowded streets, we won’t look away—
raise the amp, strike the chord, let the reckoning play.
One more time—raise the lights, shake the gates, name the wrongs by name.
Let the world ring, let the chords sting—
we won’t fade, we won’t break, we won’t look away!
