Vultures are Circlin' the Capitol Dome

The air got thick today, the sky turned a different shade,

like a promise getting sick, like a debt that can't be paid.

There's a whisper in the static on the late-night radio

about a slow and steady winter comin' for the things we know.

The statues in the city park, they've started lookin' nervous,

like they know they're not the only ones who've outlived their purpose.

And the church bells don't sound holy, they just sound like they're afraid,

a eulogy for every single decent choice we made.

There's a rumor of a future written in a different ink,

one that makes you watch your words and makes you watch the way you think.

They say the river's gonna rise, they say the well is running dry,

they say a lot of things to you without ever meeting your eye.

'Cause the vultures are circlin' the capitol dome

and they're lookin' down on us like we are carrion, like we are home.

There's a shadow growin' longer, a chill is in the breeze,

and the sound of freedom's dying is the rustlin' in the trees.

Yeah, the vultures are circlin', they're patient and they're cruel

and they're waitin' for the rest of us to learn their golden rule.

The old folks on the porches have stopped tellin' any tales,

they just starin' at the horizon, inspecting their fingernails

as if the dirt beneath 'em holds a truth they can't admit,

that the ground beneath our feet is gettin' ready to split.

I saw the flag at half-mast, but nobody had died,

just a feelin' in my gut that somethin' beautiful had lied

about the nature of its promise, about the shelter it would give,

about the basic, simple right to choose the way you live.

It ain't the thunder that you worry 'bout, it's the quiet in the air;

the calm before the hurricane, a silence like a prayer

for somethin' that ain't comin', for somethin' that is gone.

And the vultures keep on circlin' from dusk until the dawn.

'Cause the vultures are circlin' the capitol dome

and they're lookin' down on us like we are carrion, like we are home.

There's a shadow growin' longer, a chill is in the breeze,

and the sound of freedom's dying is the rustlin' in the trees.

Yeah, the vultures are circlin', they're patient and they're cruel

and they're waitin' for the rest of us to learn their golden rule.