[Intro]
[Pipe organ holds one imperial chord while a gavel taps the three-note motif in slow repetition.]

[Verse 1]
[President]
They brought me maps of every floor,
The hidden hinge, the guarded door.
They showed me where the statutes bind,
Then drew the gaps between each line.
“The branch is one,” the counsel said,
“One living hand, one sovereign head.”
I heard the old restraints recede
As ink translated wish to deed.

[Pre-Chorus]
[President]
Why bargain with a distant chair?
Why suffer doubt when I am there?
Let every office breathe my air;
Let every answer find me there.

[Chorus]
[President]
Build me the unitary throne,
One hand on every seal and phone.
No branch shall move or stand alone;
Its borrowed power is mine to own.
When every “no” is overthrown,
I rule from the unitary throne.

[Verse 2]
[Narrator]
The counsel folds the founding page,
Then calls restraint a bygone age.
He trims the phrase, expands the claim,
And sets Article Two aflame.
The bureau chief must bend the knee,
The prosecutor answer me.
The expert’s oath, the judge’s tone—
All orbit one commanding throne.

[Chorus]
[President]
Build me the unitary throne,
One hand on every seal and phone.
No branch shall move or stand alone;
Its borrowed power is mine to own.
When every “no” is overthrown,
I rule from the unitary throne.

[Instrumental Break]
[Pipe organ and syncopated guitar trade seven-beat phrases before resolving into a rigid four-beat march.]

[Bridge]
[Narrator]
A crown of gold invites the eye;
A crown of clauses passes by.
No jewel shines, no velvet falls,
Just counsel walking marble halls.
The old kings claimed a bloodline right;
The new king cites a footnote tight.
He does not shout, “The state is me.”
He signs—and makes it policy.

[Breakdown]
[Ensemble]
One branch.
One will.
One order.
Stand still.
One voice.
One name.
One throne
Without the frame.

[Final Chorus]
[Citizens]
Break down the unitary throne,
Before one will becomes the known.
No public trust is private-owned,
No office serves a man alone.
A branch that cannot check its own
Becomes the wood beneath a throne.

[Outro]
[Narrator]
The counsel gathers every page.
The president remains alone.
He tests the sound against the room:

“My branch.
My law.
My throne.”
