they built a word,
a polished shield,
"humane,"
to justify the field
where blood is spilled on factory lines,
a quick fix for the guilty minds.
a sterile term,
a gentle lie,
to mask the fact the thing must die.

they speak of "dignity" with care,
a sacred,
inherent right to wear.
then draw a border,
pass a law,
that dignifies the fatal flaw.
a status granted,
not a core,
for those behind the other door.

they quote the verse,
forbid the grave,
the life they once were quick to save.
but in the granting,
hold the chain,
a managed right,
a measured gain.
a quick fix for the ancient stain,
so custom can resume its reign.

the template fits the hand that draws,
and justifies the hidden jaws.
a quick fix for a bleeding soul,
to make the broken system
whole.
it papers over pain and schism,
with dignified pragmatism.