The Price We Pay

This track was born from a real headline: The collective resilience of ordinary Americans absorbing the economic shockwaves of geopolitical conflict they had no voice in starting. Muckraker's pop production gives the story the weight of a front-page exclusive — journalism you can feel in your chest. Lines like "A teacher in a Corolla doing math between the pumps," anchor the track in specifics that generic coverage misses. The mood — anthemic, unifying, bittersweet resolve — reflects the emotional reality behind the numbers. Every Majik's Studio news track exists to make you feel the story, not just read it.

[verse 1] Seven a.m., the line is twelve cars deep, everybody staring at the price and losing sleep. The number climbs like fever on a child's forehead glow, three-seventy today, tomorrow who's to know. A teacher in a Corolla doing math between the pumps, a nurse who worked a double, running on faith and no sleep's bumps. Construction crew in Tacoma, diesel generator dead, the job site shut by noon because the budget bled and bled. From Portland, Maine to Portland, Oregon the story is the same, the war wrote checks our wallets cash and we don't know who to blame. A grandmother in Memphis cutting pills to stretch the script, because the pharmacy delivery fee just tripled and she's gripped by the choice no one should make between the medicine and meals, and somewhere in a boardroom someone's celebrating deals. [chorus] This is the price we pay, the price we pay, for decisions made a world away. This is the price we pay, the price we pay, and it's due at the pump every single day. [verse 2] Small-town diner, Wanda's, been open forty years, the fryer oil delivery just doubled, Wanda's near tears. She raised the burger fifty cents, lost half the lunch-hour crowd, the math of Main Street dying isn't subtle, isn't proud. School bus routes got shortened, kids are walking in the rain, district says the fuel costs mean they had to cut the lane. So now a twelve-year-old in Akron's got a two-mile morning hike, past the gas station billboard glowing numbers sharp as a pike. Baby formula's on backorder, the ships are rerouting wide, around the Horn of Africa, twenty extra days to ride. A father holds a can of powder, measures half a scoop, stretching what he's got because the supply chain threw a loop. Four-star generals on the TV, pointing at the maps they've drawn, and four hundred million people paying for it from the dawn. [chorus] This is the price we pay, the price we pay, for decisions made a world away. This is the price we pay, the price we pay, and it's due at the pump every single day. [bridge] We didn't choose the Strait, didn't choose the fight, didn't sign the orders green-lit in the night. But we choose each other, at the table, at the store, we choose to keep on standing even when we hit the floor. Because the price we pay in dollars is only half the cost, the rest is paid in time with our families we've lost. [chorus] This is the price we pay, the price we pay, for decisions made a world away. This is the price we pay, the price we pay, and it's due at the pump every single day. [outro] The price we pay... the price we pay... we pay it every morning, we pay it every day. The price we pay... the price we pay... but we're still here, and we're not going away.