We Know Which Way The Wind Blows
The Epstein Coverup
Back in July, I dropped Release The Epstein Files and Dear Jeffery. This song is a follow-up to those, given where we are in this present moment.
Dylan fans and Minnesotans who know their cultural heritage will recognize the title as the “You don’t need to be a weatherman to know which way the wind blows” line from Bob Dylan’s Subtrranean Homesick Blues. I’ve used that line verbatim as a nod to my fellow Minnesotan and because it works so well here.
This song was a bit tricky to create. I tried numerous times to get the staccato cadence of Dylan’s song because the lyrics were intended to mimick that delivery style, but I just coudn’t get it right.
I finally figured out to break up the lines of the song, which were originally longer, into shorter phrases, which did the trick.
I’ve got several different versions below. The one I’m featuring doesn’t use that staccato delivery but it’s my favorite.
I also created a cover using the music from my original Release The Epstein Files song to provide some continuity between the two songs.
I’d love to hear what you think of the different versions in the comments section.
Lyrics
Palm Beach handshake,
Mar-a-lago grin,
“I’ve known Jeff fifteen years;
terrific guy,” back when.
“A lot of fun to be with,”
was the published line,
He liked pretty women,
“younger side,” sometimes.
’92 footage
in the Florida heat,
Pointing at the dancers,
jailbait treats.
Photos with Ghislaine,
Melania in frame,
Everybody smiling
like they have no shame.
Magazines quoting,
cameras rolling,
Names in the black book
no-one controlling.
Flight logs printed
with the president’s name,
Visits and encounters
everybody explains.
Blanche interviews Maxwell,
door closed tight,
Next thing you know
she’s in a low-security site.
Cover this,
cover that,
lock it up tight.
Trump’s D.O.J.
is turning off the light.
Why fight so hard
to stop the show?
Don’t need to be a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.
Yeah, folks see patterns
everywhere the paper slows.
Every time more comes out,
another door closes.
Pam Bondi whispering
briefings in May,
Trump’s name is in the stack
they’d unseal someday.
Staff told to flag
every mention inside,
Suddenly transparency
takes a long, strange ride.
Promises of sunshine,
then a blackout switch,
Calling it a “hoax”
when the questions get rich.
Influencers screamed
“drop the list!” last year,
But the volume dies down
when the truth comes near.
Nobody’s claiming
what the law don’t show,
But the closer the inquiry,
the slower things go.
You can stall out the files,
say “nothing to see,”
But people spot patterns
with brutal clarity.
They’re reading every headline,
every quote you chose,
They don’t need to be a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.
Cover this,
cover that,
seal the whole stack.
Every missing record
keeps circling back.
If there’s nothing to hide,
let the sunlight flow,
But the file room’s locked,
and the shadows grow.
People ain’t stupid,
they can follow the prose,
They don’t need to be a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.