Mr. Compromise: Henry Clay

Born in the fields of Virginia's clay. A silver tongue that could pave

the way. From Lexington's heart to the nation's hall, he stood with

the shadows rise and fall. Oh, Henry, with hands so

steady, your words were swords, your heart was ready.

Mr. Compromise, you built the bridge between the valleys

and south ridge. Holding a nation so torn,

so frail. Mr. Compromise, the deals

you made. The Missouri line, it cut the land.