[Verse 1] Down where the gas line used to hum with heat, soldiers crouch in steel, duck-walking on bent feet, a reporter crawled the pipe to show the world the scene — no sky, no stars, just rifle flash and kerosene. They fight for feet of tunnel like it's a city block, echo of a grenade bouncing off the rock. This is the war nobody films from a drone, fought in the dark, in a vein made of stone. [Chorus] Count the cost, count the casualties, count the days, Ukraine's spending firepower in a dozen different ways. From the pipe to the platform to the refinery flame, every headline's a heartbeat with somebody's name. [Verse 2] Washington signs off, two-point-one in steel, Patriots crossing the water on a cargo wheel. Interceptors stacked like books nobody reads till the sirens start singing and a city bleeds. Kyiv's counting warheads while the diplomats stall, hoping these missiles get there before the next call. [Verse 3] Putin says maybe, dangles a receiver in the air, Zelensky's team reads it twice, smells something funny there. A phone call offered like a hand that might be bait — Kyiv keeps its guard up, doesn't take the Kremlin's weight. Meanwhile the refinery smoke climbs past the trees, Ukraine struck it anyway, defying Washington's please. [Chorus] Count the cost, count the casualties, count the days, Ukraine's spending firepower in a dozen different ways. From the pipe to the platform to the refinery flame, every headline's a heartbeat with somebody's name. [Verse 4] Down in Oleshky, the water's still rising slow, rafts and ladders moving people nobody wants to let go. Lawmakers say some made it out, a handful, not the whole, the flood don't care for borders, don't care about control. Rescue boats keep rowing where the current used to be a road, every family a cargo, every mile a heavier load. [Verse 5] Trains still running west with the wounded and the worn, fields keep getting planted though the fences are reborn. Grandmothers in basements counting out the days in chalk, kids learn the sound of sirens before they learn to talk. Factories rebuild what the missiles tear in half, and somewhere in the rubble someone still finds a laugh. This is the ledger written in diesel and in rust, a nation keeping promises nobody said it must. [Bridge] A record broken isn't a trophy, it's a weight, Russian losses climbing while Ukraine recalculates. More shells, more systems, sharper eyes above the field — this is what investment in survival has to yield. [Outro] October thirty-first, the pipes, the planes, the flood, written down in headlines, measured out in blood and mud. [Chorus] Count the cost, count the casualties, count the days, Ukraine's spending firepower in a dozen different ways. From the pipe to the platform to the refinery flame, every headline's a heartbeat with somebody's name.
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