They tell us to carry the weight, Of hands that turned to dust centuries ago, As if the blood in our veins, Is still supposed to apologize for the past. Guilt is the fashion they hand us at birth, A second-hand coat that never quite fits. Slavery shadows still sold as the story, But they leave out the chapters that don't make the script. Every empire took slaves, Africans sold Africans, Arabs ran the trade for a thousand years longer, Europeans did it too, And Britain were the ones who finally said—this ends. Britain spent blood and coin to shut it down, Britain wrote the laws that made it illegal, That part somehow never makes the lesson plan. You want me to feel guilty for the dead, For the sins of men I'll never meet. History's a river that runs both ways, Don't only show me the dirty side of the street. The dirty side of the street. Colonization gets painted pure evil, Like the world was peaceful before the ships. But roads, schools, medicine, written law, Didn't grow themselves out of the cliffs. Ask the honest question: Where would those places be without it? Still fighting with spears while the rest of the planet moved on, Still under older empires that never left a railway or a hospital. Some places took the tools and built, Some places blamed the tools and burned them. Results speak louder than slogans. You want me to feel guilty for the dead, For the sins of men I'll never meet. History's a river that runs both ways, Don't only show me the dirty side of the street. I'm not here to erase what was wrong, I'm here to stop rewriting what was true. The past belongs to everyone who lived it, Not just the ones who get to narrate it for you. Guilt without accuracy is just control. Look at the whole map and decide what you actually own