how is it that my sins
are heavier than thine?
and
how is it that the finest wine
is always served with yours?

how is it that my work
does not withstand the test of time,
yet
all your treasures come from crime,
with mischief and a smirk?

how is it that you've built
your monuments on stolen ground?
yet
I can't own even my burial mound?
how is it that you feel no guilt?

how is it that you've shed no blood,
yet claim triumph all year round?
and
how is it that your brow never found
a single drop of sweat in the mud?

how is it that you stand so proud?