Under flickering lights in D.C. haze
Two men chase a twisted maze
No badges, no guns, no rulebook creed
Just ink-stained fingers and a need to read

The phones click twice, the shadows stretch
A parking garage, a voice half-catch
They scribble notes no suit would bless
Truth don’t shine—it stains the press

In the dark they write, no headline fame
No guarantee, no easy name
They break the walls with silent might
And light the lies with sleepless night

Every lead a whispered thread
Every fact one step from dead
Editors blink, the phones grow cold
But truth don’t fold when the tape rolls gold

They follow trails through hush and smoke
Past the smiles, through power’s cloak
And every word they carve on page
Becomes the match that sparks the cage

In the dark they write, while others sleep
For the stories deep and secrets steep
With every risk, they pay the cost
So no one says the truth got lost

No glory march, no sirens wail
Just coffee rings and paper trail
While men in towers crack and fall
The voice of proof outshines them all

In the dark they write, with steady hand
For those who dream and understand
The watchdogs howl, the spotlights turn
And from the press, the people learn

Truth walks slow—but it walks free
On ink and grit and memory