Two hundred winters Buried in the ground Ash in the atlas Not a whisper Not a sound Names cut from the ledgers Lines scraped off the globe Whole tongues reduced to a whisper Never to be known Erased from the map Like you were never breathing Bolts thrown from the sky To hide what they were keeping Everybody goes missing Culture removed from the page Their fingerprint of power Pressed in ink and silent rage Marble into gravel Gold into dust Engines being shackled Tech-nology to rust Palaces to rubble Shrines hid in a vault They melted our story There's no shame, no fault Erased from the map Like you were never breathing Fire rained from the sky To hide what they were keeping The truth goes missing They rewrote every page Their footprint of power Hard labor and low wage Who signed the orders? Who drew the line? Who taught our children It was all by design If silence is their security Our memory is our crime But the ground still pulses Of a different time (hey) Erased from the map History keeps repeating They claimed and divide To show what they were keeping Remove all trace Or rename and repurpose Create a new timeline So nothing will resurface Copyright © 2026 by The November Son. All rights reserved.
