The Island Fell — In Silence, Not Chains

We lit the beacons on the coast,
But the crowd chose shows and sales.
Their fingers swiped the cries away,
While our warnings turned to nails.

We stood where cracks began to grow,
Chanting truth through blistered throats.
But their comfort was a coffin,
And their jokes became the ropes.

We said: “This isn’t politics—
It’s the pulse of who we are.”
They said: “Don’t ruin the mood,”
And looked back at the stars.

They let it fall—
This island home—
Not by hate, but letting go.
The tyrants smiled, the ballots slept,
And the brave were left alone.
Not with war, but with neglect—
That’s how they let it die.
The island sank in scrolls and silence,
While the loyal burned alive.

We carved our oaths on paper walls,
But apathy was quick to spread.
One by one, the lights went out,
And they laughed at what we said.

Their freedom cost them nothing—
So they sold it for a trend.
And the ones who fought for memory
Were buried without friends.

They let it fall—
With cheerful eyes—
And no one heard the warning bell.
They said, “It’s fine, it’s far away,”
As history wrote its spell.
This wasn’t loss—it was betrayal,
Draped in comfy clothes and lies.
The island sank in scrolls and silence,
And we were still alive.

From my inspiration, voiced by Suno.