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Thunder in the Wires, Light in Our Hands
World News

Thunder in the Wires, Light in Our Hands

5:02
4. Januar 2026
Thunder in the Wires, Light in Our Hands
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Thunder in the Wires, Light in Our Hands

Verse 1 (Venezuela)

Night over Caracas, low engines cut the sky, reports say the strikes fell hard and dry. A president taken with his love, flown north to face the court, accused of running shadows in a country running short. A voice at home said “we’ll run your house until a hand can fit the key,” some neighbors clapped, some cried “the law, the law,” while Congress learned by TV.

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Chorus

Hold on, hold out, the world is bloom and bruise, we are the chorus, trying hard to choose. Between strike and shelter, doubt and trust, keep your heart loud, keep your aim just.


Verse 2 (Iran)

Nearly a week of footsteps fills the streets with dust, a currency falling through fingers like rust. From city to city the chanting won’t fade, the elder says “put them in their place,” the threat is made. Across the ocean, promises and warnings share a stage, Tehran points at bases, and the new president names foreign rage— then says, “your pain is real,” as the crowd turns the page.

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Chorus

Hold on, hold out, the world is bloom and bruise, we are the chorus, trying hard to choose. Between strike and shelter, doubt and trust, keep your heart loud, keep your aim just.


Verse 3 (New York City)

Under iron ribs of a sleeping line, a hand rose to the light, Zohran Mamdani took the city’s oath at midnight. First Muslim, South Asian, youngest in generations’ span, a second vow on stone steps with a friend who’s long been a fan. He promised to govern wide, to make the rent less cruel, tore out old orders from an indicted rule, named new deputies, built homes into the plan—crowds cheering, movement full.

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Verse 4 (Flu)

A lettered twist of fever, subclade K by name, slipped past the calendar, changed the game. Beds fill, maps glow, one state breaks its past, the doctors say the shot still softens the blast. But sleeves stay down on buses and trains, and the cough writes stories on windowpanes.

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Chorus

Hold on, hold out, the world is bloom and bruise, we are the chorus, trying hard to choose. Between strike and shelter, doubt and trust, keep your heart loud, keep your aim just.


Verse 5 (Ukraine)

On a guarded line, London reached for Kyiv’s hand, talked of peace and promises strong enough to stand. A willing circle set to meet beneath Paris skies, chiefs drafting safeguards for a day when the firing dies. And a new name steps beside the president’s chair, to steer the room where choices wear the air.

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Verse 6 (CES)

Desert neon hums, tomorrow checks in, a chipmaker’s sage grins at the din. Screens stretch wider, depth without glass, another voice says “affection,” can a circuit learn to ask? New lights, new walls, new ways to see, and a whisper turns to tools: wheels think free, drones stitch the wind, wrists get wise— AI steps off the page and looks you in the eyes.

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Bridge

From Caracas thunder to Tehran’s cry, from Gotham’s vow to wards running dry, from Kyiv’s cold hope to Vegas’ shine, we hold the wire and walk the line. We are more than headlines, more than fears, we are hands, we are years.


Final Chorus (Exciting Ending)

Hold on, hold out—raise every streetlamp heart, sing for the healers and the ones who restart. Between strike and shelter, we choose the trust, turn the noise to a compass, turn the ash to dust. Hold on, hold out—let the last note land: thunder in the wires, light in our hands.

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