Hey, the table was laid before the dawn of apology
Harvest of empire in empty seats of apology
We carved the pledge with salted bread & blind history
And poured the wine on bones we promised to free

We showed up with praise-and-paper, signed papers in gold ink
Under painted skies, thanks given for what we didn’t think
That soil held ancestors, silent drums beneath our feet
We raised the roof for plenty while they counted every beat
A feast for the victors, plates piled high with borrowed grace
We blessed the conquest in the name of a smiling face
The turkey carved like empire, gravy flowed as conquest’s stream
And weeds grew wild in shadows of the harvest dream
Bread broken on graves that never asked to feed our fears
We closed our eyes, toasted our hope, ignored the years
Mountains of thanks, valleys of sighs beneath the floor
The first table’s myth is built on someone else’s war
So listen to the hollowness between the cheers of yield
The fields were sown in silence, the yield forgot the shield
And now the story’s told by those who sat and ate the prize
While pain lingers in the harvest, hidden behind our eyes

At the first table we sat, at the first table we ate
But the seeds were sown in someone else’s fate
At the first table we sang, at the first table we feigned
Thanks for the harvest when someone else remained

The carving knife still echoes in the halls of what we built
The wooden table splits in cracks where guilt meets quilt
We passed the platter, told the tale of “one land, one hand”
The guest list wrote them out, then sealed the final stand
Our thanks ring loud in halls where silence screams the truth
In the laughter lies the ledger of youth upon lost youth
We invited our narratives, edited the pain, rewrote the stake
While someone else paid for the bread we claimed we’d make
Now I walk through fields of thanks, look down at ghostly grain
Hear the whispers of the harvest, listen to the rain
That falls on the bones of tablets, the markers of our feast
And asks: who really sat at the first table, who died … at least?
The myth stands tall in stained cloth and candle light display
But the roots run deep in graves where no one came to pray
So next time you break bread, remember who laid the plates
And ask: whose hand held the knife when the feast sealed those fates

At the first table we sat, at the first table we ate
But the seeds were sown in someone else’s fate
At the first table we sang, at the first table we feigned
Thanks for the harvest when someone else remained

They said the land was virgin, they said the feast was free
They said the treaty meant “welcome”, they glossed the misery
They said “we came in peace”, they said “we shared the grain”
They said “we’re grateful for your roots”, they switched the name
They said the table was equal, they said the plates brimmed full
They said the bread was changed, they hid the pull
They said the harvest blessed all, they hid the debt
They said the past is done, they turned the sweat
They said “thanks to ancestors”, they never met
They said “we’re one people now”, the silhouette
They said “we honoured the treaty”, they tore the page
They said “history’s written here”, they silenced the stage
They said “the land is ours now”, they boxed the truth
They said “first table forever”, they stole the proof

At the first table we sat, at the first table we ate
But the seeds were sown in someone else’s fate
At the first table we sang, at the first table we feigned
Thanks for the harvest when someone else remained

So we lift our forks in silence, adjust the lights, pretend the scene
But the table’s long and haunted by the ones who never gleaned
And though we say “thanks” tonight with voices raised in chains
The first table was set long ago, in someone else’s reign

At the first table

The entire sound is in my hands. I write cyber poetry, produce, and compose every track ready for Immersive 3D. Every beat is crafted for spatial and next-gen headphones.
Intimate lyrics, total immersion, every track.

For 30 years I kept unfinished demos to myself, never letting them out. Now I finish what I start and release it the moment it’s alive.

I use every tool available, human or machine, as an instrument.
Technology doesn’t replace creativity. It expands it.

At the first table

Terminalose