Do-Nan

The pot was dry, the fire low

The child's hands too cold to grow

No rice, no coal, no paid regret

But mouths to feed, and endless debt

So I took the grain

I took the thread

I left no name

I bowed my head

His door was wood, my guilt was steel

His child slept soft, mine missed a meal

I prayed he'd wake and understand

This theft was made by hunger's hand

I took the coat

I took the bread

But left behind

The tears I bled

We all have knives, we all have songs

Some sing of right, some bleed their wrongs

We blamed the poor, we blamed the dust

But never named the one to trust

The one who wore the rising sun

Who laughed when all our crops were done

Who wrote the laws, who weighed the scales

And left us fighting for the nails

I see my face in shattered bowls

In widow's hands, in hidden holes

The shame I bear is not alone

We bled our own to feed the throne

I took the lamp

But not the flame

I kept the dark

And wore the blame

Not for gold

Not for spite

Not for rage

But for the night

For the rice

For the breath

For the child

I stole from death

We called it crime

But lived the lie

The real hand

Was never dry

And in the dark

Behind the creed

We weren't the first

To plant the seed

No thief is born

But hunger breeds

What silence hides

And history feeds

We turned away

But left a mark

Not in the flesh

But in the dark