It’s funny, they say
but there’s no laughter here.
We handed you our brother,
our joy, our cheer.
A soul so bold, with hands that gave,
Who worked and bled to shield and save.
He called you family, stood by your side,
Carried your burdens, swallowed his pride.
He built your world while his own burned
And oh, the thanks he never earned.
You feasted well on his broken back,
Draped in gold while his light went black.
He poured out love like a willing stream,
And you siphoned it dry to chase a dream.
For what? Some coins? A fleeting throne?
You traded a heart for things you don’t own.
Now we have grief in place of a man
All for your petty, poisonous plan.
He fed you when your plates were bare,
Stitched your wounds with hands of care.
Yet when he bled, you turned away
Took his soul and called it “pay.”
So here’s your prize, your tarnished gain:
A throne of guilt, a crown of shame.
You had our trust now you have your fill,
Of silence, sorrow, and all you kill.
We’ll mourn him deep, and speak your name low
While you count silver and duck the blame.
But mark this truth: in time you’ll see
You chose your crumbs over dignity.
— Mekdes