[Verse 1] New water on the map, the fight ain't just on land, a Russian vessel seized, cold current, icy sand, Wall Street Journal tracing how the frost turned to a front, the Arctic joins the chessboard, nobody saw that stunt, tankers rerouted, radar pinging through the fog, a war that lived in trenches now floats on a frozen log. [Chorus] November on the calendar, three chairs at the table, Ukraine, Russia, Washington, if the truce proves stable, Zelenskyy keeps repeating it, says it's locked and penned, but the drones don't read the schedule till the fighting's at an end. [Verse 2] Kyiv's strikes go south now, aiming at Crimea, occupied peninsula running a slow fever, meanwhile up in the water, London links with Paris, joint drills in the channel, no room for embarrassment, UK and France rehearsing like a backup plan in motion, while Guardian headlines paint the briefing with commotion. [Verse 3] Elon says he shut it, that Starlink loophole's sealed, Kyiv says hold on, we broke nothing, that's concealed, satellites in tug-of-war, static in the sky, and strikes on Russian refineries make Trump ask why, Reuters calls it friction, a rift stretched thin and tight, energy and diplomacy don't always burn alight. [Chorus] November on the calendar, three chairs at the table, Ukraine, Russia, Washington, if the truce proves stable, Zelenskyy keeps repeating it, says it's locked and penned, but the drones don't read the schedule till the fighting's at an end. [Verse 4] Meanwhile in Brussels, the sanctions list grows thicker, nineteenth package drafted while the rubles fall quicker, Germany's split down the middle on tanks and gas, Hungary's veto power stalling the mass, NATO's eastern flank watching satellites and borders, while backchannel diplomats shuffle their orders, China stays quiet, buying oil at a discount, India's refineries humming, nobody wants the fallout, and somewhere in Geneva, a neutral room waits, for names on a document, sealing both their fates. [Bridge] Day one-seven-oh-four, forget the body count, fifteen-fifty miles deep, that's the real amount, Kyiv's reach is stretching past the borders it was drawn in, EA WorldView counting while the peace talks keep forming. Three sides, one November, but the map keeps redrawing, Arctic ice and Black Sea drones, both still clawing. [Outro] So that's the twenty-sixth, cold water, hot debate, a meeting on the calendar, a conflict that won't wait, Crimea, Starlink, Arctic waves, Trump stuck in the middle, tune in for tomorrow, same war, different riddle. [Chorus] November on the calendar, three chairs at the table, Ukraine, Russia, Washington, if the truce proves stable, Zelenskyy keeps repeating it, says it's locked and penned, but the drones don't read the schedule till the fighting's at an end.
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