In Texan halls, where swords divide,
A house of lords, a great divide,
Ken Paxton felled, by kin and kind,
Their voices joined, in fate’s design.
Of birth and blood, the tale unfolds,
American kin, shall bear no more,
Their cradles bare, the earth unshackled,
As fewer babes grace these hallowed shores.
A hall once grand, the stones did roll,
In Montauk's land, he built anew,
Jann Wenner's dream, of counsel sought,
Now minimalist, retreats to shore.
