[Verse 1] Forty-five to fifty leaders landing, two summits stacked tight, North Wall Quay shut cold, Samuel Beckett Bridge out of sight, Convention Centre wrapped in cordon, plain as paper and pin, hotel streets "may" close too — gardaí won't say for certain. Operation running Tuesday to Friday, four days tall, built around two meetings that'll crowd the river wall. [Chorus] Close the road, keep it slow, the city's holding its breath, EPC Thursday, Council Friday, counting down to the rest, but underneath the barricades a second story grows — coaches rolling, workers walking, watch where the money goes. [Verse 2] Thursday's the day two currents cross on the very same street — leaders talking policy while placards find their feet, public sector out on strike, noon till two the rallies swell, biggest march the capital's seen, with talks still touch and tell. Back in October, over three hundred thousand walked that line, Callinan's warning rolling strikes if nothing's solved in time. [Verse 3] Quietly, off to the side, the gardaí work to rule, five full days, Tuesday through Saturday, bending, never a tool. Foreign Affairs counts the bill — fifteen million at the floor, before one euro of security walks in through the door, coach hire alone is swallowing two million off that sum, and somewhere in the ledger, a city budget goes numb. [Verse 4] Bomb-hoax emails landed, officials call the threat substantial, not background noise this time — it's rated consequential. Dublin Chamber's watching tills, worried shops and cafés stall, quiet footfall on the pavement where the motorcades crawl. [Verse 5] Across the water, cameras hover, drones mapping the quay, every lens chasing the summit, every feed finds its way, residents boxed by checkpoints, school runs rerouted twice, while the talk inside the glass walls stays careful, stays precise. Taxi ranks empty, Luas slows under the weight of the crowd, and somewhere between the headlines, the city hums too loud. [Bridge] Friday evening the tape comes down, the quay breathes out at last, but the strike talk and the invoice don't dissolve that fast. [Chorus] Close the road, keep it slow, the city's holding its breath, EPC Thursday, Council Friday, counting down to the rest, but underneath the barricades a second story grows — coaches rolling, workers walking, watch where the money goes. [Outro] Fifteen million minimum, that's the number, plain and true, two for coaches, fifty leaders, and a city pushing through. [Chorus] Close the road, keep it slow, the city's holding its breath, EPC Thursday, Council Friday, counting down to the rest, but underneath the barricades a second story grows — coaches rolling, workers walking, watch where the money goes.
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