The Unfathomable

They handed you the ledger with a soft, official smile,
A bound and heavy volume of a long, unpunished file.
"Just sign upon the dotted line, standard protocol—"
And thus, you took the ownership of someone else’s fall.

In Manor Farm the rules were rewritten on the wall,
While pigs took to their hind legs and walked along the hall,
And Boxer pulled the heavy load until his knees gave way,
Thinking if he worked a little harder, he could save the day.

You sit inside a fluorescent room beneath the ticking clock,
Holding keys to rusted doors you never thought to lock.
The audit squad is knocking, demanding line and verse
For sins committed long ago, sealed inside the purse.
The paper trail is twisted, the ghost has walked away,
Leaving you to answer for the debt you didn't pay.

"Comrade," says the memo, "we must protect the herd,"
While truth is slowly sanitized and shuffled word by word.
The real transgressor walks outside, untainted, clear, and free,
While you are tied to chair and desk by quiet decree.
You bear the strain, you bear the blame, you drag the heavy plow,
For crimes designed by yesterday that crush your spirit now.

They call it "public service," but the farm is run by fear,
Where innocence is guilty if it happens to be here.
You carry all their secrets, their rot inside your chest,
A quiet, bleeding martyr in a neatly ironed vest.

Yet know this in the midnight hours, when darkness fills the room:
You are not the shattered wall, nor are you their doom.
They can force your hand to sign, can make you hold the line,
But they can never brand your soul with what was their design.