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Again and again, like a record cracked and chipped
But somehow still spinning and playing those blasted reminders.
Stories of crumbling livelihoods, eroding hopes and dying dreams
Come from that damned turntable following us around,
Turning merry songs of hope that christened the new year
Into an elegy befitting the loss of someone most beloved.
In this case that someone is something: the belief that
A new calendar would be some sort of magic charm
With the power to exorcise last year's innumerable demons.

Those ghouls have extended their claws to shackle us all,
Each chain labeled with a different obstacle or misfortune:
"Lost my job," "haven't seen my family in months," "political chaos."
Some require squinting to see, others make you turn the chain
To fully see the oversized, jagged, hot to the touch letters.
You've heard this all before, too many times to be sure;
If only reality would get the message and take that record
To the past, preferably in the form of smoldering shards.

Mud beneath your feet shoots up to coat the chains;
Clay forged from future worries seeks to engulf your present.
Our fate under leaders who are masters of finger pointing,
This "new normal" refusing to book a flight out of here,
And a divide that has burrowed into our very souls
Causing our shackles to be branded with "each other."
Our already battered and bruised minds will beg us
To let the mud do its job and cease our feeble fight...
Yet there is a second voice calling us, a furious whisper
From within the heart chanting "don't ever give up!"

Such a stock cheer must be devoid of power... right?
After all, the steps that conjure streams of sweat and tears
Have left us so repulsively close that we can graze the record
Without having an honest chance of tossing it away.
"You've put yourself through enough" says our minds
While our hearts provide us with a surprisingly long list
Of reasons these muddy restraints haven't beaten us yet.

Loved ones finding inventive ways to join us for dinner.
Children weaponizing their chalk to fight the darkness
With rainbows of hope that light up the pavement.
Random acts of kindness from those who need no fame,
Only the knowledge that somebody's chains were loosened
By their hefty tip or homecooked meal left on the doorstep.
The longer we listen to that second voice the louder it gets,
Offering the strength needed to wage war against the first
As our chains start to rattle and chunks of mud flake off.

The record player will drift further away in response which means
"We should just accept our burdens already" says one voice
From seemingly miles away, its plea repelled by a valiant cry
Pulsing through our bodies as our hearts seize the reins
In the name of taking every single item on our chains by the necks
And screaming with defiant hope: "YOU'RE NOT GOING TO WIN!"

Divided, discouraged, drained, full of dread... but not defeated.
As long as we aren't there remains a chance of us becoming
United, hopeful, recharged and full of determination... and then
We're going to dance on the remains of that accursed record
While our resiliency replaces it with a song of unbreakable hope!