One, two, three, four…

The battle’s been lost, the war is not won.

The addled republic - a bitter refund.

The “business first” flat-Earthers licking their

wounds

The verdict is dire, the country’s in ruins.

Providence breach, face in the Sun.

Where are we left to carry on?...

Until the day is done.

Until the day is done.

So we’ve written our stories to entertain

These notions of glory and bull market gain.

The teleprompt flutters, a power search brings

An easy-speed message falls into routine.

Providence blinked face in the Sun.

Where are we left to carry on?...

Until the day is done.

Until the day is done.

A voice whispers “Son,

The blessed vision comes.”

What have I done, what have I done?

So hold tight your babies and your guns

Forgive us our trespasses, Father and Son.

Providence breach, face in the Sun.

Where are we left to carry on?...

Until the day is done.

Until the day is done.

Until the day is done.

Until the day is done.