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.