[Verse 1] Paper dated the fourth of November, ink still breathing, but the clock on this started October twenty-third, no kidding. Asylum rules shift come November third, quiet as a Rhodes chord, but every word's a loaded word. Five thousand dollars is the floor if you step wrong, one point five million the ceiling, per notice, per song — that's the fine for advisers who guide the paperwork trail, immigration, citizenship — miss a line, watch 'em wail. [Chorus] Gazette don't shout, it just quietly writes it down, fourteen pages turning while nobody's in town. Twelve thousand consultants, plus lawyers, plus notaries too, every legal regulator said "don't put this on our crew." [Verse 2] Headline says overhaul, but check what's tucked behind — twelve thousand regulated consultants, that's the line, plus the lawyers, plus notaries, swept into the same net, while every bar association's got their pen and their regret. They didn't ask permission, didn't wait for the nod, just folded legal folks in like they're part of the squad. The Bar says sixty days to file your asylum case, with one thirty-day stretch — "not realistic," they say to your face. [Verse 3] Designated reps need watching, oversight's the claim, but who's watching the watchers? CBA asks the same. No next date stamped on this, it's already law, no hearing on the calendar, no asterisk, no flaw — just courts waiting quiet, like a brushed-snare hush, for the first notice of violation, the first legal rush. A constitutional opinion, cited loud by Law360, says fining lawyers crosses into provincial territory. [Chorus] Gazette don't shout, it just quietly writes it down, fourteen pages turning while nobody's in town. Twelve thousand consultants, plus lawyers, plus notaries too, every legal regulator said "don't put this on our crew." [Bridge] Fourteen point oh million — present value, ten years tight, that's the cost of asylum changes, total, not a yearly bite. Rural Community Immigration's drawn into the frame, three thousand admissions yearly, rural towns reclaim. Twenty three point four million foregone from the provinces' hand, ten-year present value, that's the price of the plan. [Verse 4] Some call it progress, some call it a quiet trap, sliding through committee without a single clap. The provinces are grumbling, the lawyers taking notes, while Ottawa keeps tallying all the silent votes. No town hall called, no debate on the floor, just a stamp and a date, then they bolt the door. Asylum law rewritten while the nation's still asleep, the fine print holds the power, and the power's cut deep. [Outro] No next step dated, the ink already dry, watch the courtroom doors now, watch the first notice fly. Fourteen pages, quiet power, nobody's shouting loud, but twelve thousand careers are standing under that cloud.
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