In marble halls where whispers dwell,
The dance of power casts its spell,
Promises made, yet seldom kept,
In shadows deep, ambitions crept.

Beneath the banners, voices rise,
A chorus mixed of truth and lies,
The puppet strings unseen, yet tight,
Guiding hands in dark and light.

The people’s hope, a fragile flame,
Ignites the dreams that stake their claim,
Yet in the corridors of might,
Their cries are lost in endless night.

But still, the dawn may break anew,
With leaders just and hearts so true,
For in the dance, we seek our right,
To turn the shadows into light.