[Verse 1] The ledger is bound in leather, thick and dark, We’re leaving on the world a permanent mark. The Howell manages the flow of the gold, Ensuring the stories of profit are told. The Howey organizes the transport of freight, Navigating the channels and the harbor gate. The cargo is heavy with sugar and spice, We’ve learned the value of the sacrifice. The tax is a weight that we carry with care, In the humid heat of the colonial air. [Chorus] The colonies swell like a tide on the shore, We’re opening wide the mercantile door. The Howell to invoice, the Howey to haul, We’re answering the rise of the empire's call. The ink and the acre, the iron and the rein, We’re building a fortune on top of the main. The toll is the duty, the toll is the gain, Binding the new to the old in the chain. [Verse 2] The Howell is drafting the manifests long, Making sure that the numbers can never go wrong. The Howey is managing teams on the road, Distributing the weight of the heavy load. We thrive on the commerce, we thrive on the flow, Of all of the goods that the people must know. The ledger is open from dawn until light, We’re working through all of the heat of the night. A system of order, a system of trade, The bedrock of money that we have now made. [Chorus] The colonies swell like a tide on the shore, We’re opening wide the mercantile door. The Howell to invoice, the Howey to haul, We’re answering the rise of the empire's call. The ink and the acre, the iron and the rein, We’re building a fortune on top of the main. The toll is the duty, the toll is the gain, Binding the new to the old in the chain. [Bridge] The tension is rising in meeting and hall, We hear the faint echo of liberty’s call. The Howell is cautious, the Howey is keen, To navigate all of the spaces between. We are the structure that holds the trade fast, But the tides of the future are gathering vast. We count every coin and we count every ship, Holding the world with a permanent grip. The ledger is steady, the horses are groomed, For the coming of changes that loom and have loomed. [Verse 3] The evening is cooling on the cobblestone street, With the rhythm of commerce beneath our tired feet. The fourteenth song is a record of wealth, Built with a balance of wisdom and health. The Howell is finished, the quill is set down, In the bustling center of the colonial town. The Howey is dreaming of horses and speed, The fulfillment of every new mercantile need. We’ve built up a kingdom of trade and of law, A working relationship without any flaw. [Chorus] The colonies swell like a tide on the shore, We’re opening wide the mercantile door. The Howell to invoice, the Howey to haul, We’re answering the rise of the empire's call. The ink and the acre, the iron and the rein, We’re building a fortune on top of the main. The toll is the duty, the toll is the gain, Binding the new to the old in the chain. [Outro] The printing press stops, the harbor is still, A sense of anticipation rests on the hill. The Howell is scribe, and the Howey is stride, With the weight of the empire gathered inside. The fourteenth part is written in ink, As we stand on the edge of the historical brink.
