To what end do I sharpen all these notes,
compile the minutes, trace the poisoned pen?
The throne will pass to other hands and throats—
if not this usurper, then the next, and then?
I could walk out. The building would not fall.
Another witness learns to hold his tongue.
The vipers feast. The lion fades. That's all.
The song of justice dies before it's sung.
And yet—
what coward lets the vipers win?
I've watched the faithful lift him when he fell:
tend his wounds, call him father, closer than kin,
truer than blood. Any hour. Any bell.
They carried him. Now I carry them.
Not for the crown. For everyone who stayed.
I fight so their love won't be betrayed.