The Good He Did

They yanked his photo off the hallway wall,
but left the screw holes in the wood
They called it clean accountability,
then kept the wing he paid for, warm and good
I watched the donors clap in sober suits,
the same hands flinch when rumors brewed
A city loves a savior’s headline,
even when the savior turns out crude
I held the facts like broken glass
and still remembered how the clinic stood
I hated what he did to people,
hated how the town kept saying “but he could”
His good sat heavy on the table,
like a loaded plate of neighborhood
His harm walked in behind it, grinning,
saying “Eat it all, you know you should”

[Chorus] The good he did is not a pardon,
it’s a debt that never feels renewed
The good he did won’t wash the damage,
it just sits there, mean and misconstrued
The good he did still saved some bodies,
and that truth tastes sharp and hard to chew
The good he did is not a halo, it’s a bruise where love got used

They brand him monster, brand him genius,
sell both labels for the local news
They fight online with tidy slogans,
like pain behaves when typed and viewed
I want the world to pick one story,
yet my mouth stays full of messy proof
A man can build a shelter fast,
then burn a home, then swear he meant to soothe
He shook my hand once, smiling bright,
and I believed the shine was solid, true
Then I learned shine is cheap theater,
and people pay for it like they’re due
I saw the plaques, the ribbon cuts,
the grateful speeches, all that public mood
Then I heard the private wreckage,
heard the quiet costs he quietly accrued
I wanted to spit on every poster,
wanted to tear his name from every room
Then I pictured nurses working nights inside the rooms his money kept from doom

I hate the way the council talks,
like victims are an obstacle to move
I hate the way the fans defend him,
acting righteous, acting bulletproof
I hate the way my mind keeps bargaining,
like harm becomes a lesser truth
I hate my own calculations,
hate the part of me that wants a simpler view
If I say he helped, they call me soft,
like honesty is weakness, like I’m fooled
If I say he’s only rot, I’m lying too,
since I watched the doors stay open, good
The truth is not a courtroom trick,
it’s a brawl in my own solitude
One fist wants justice, one fist wants clarity,
both fists come back bruised
The people he hurt deserve the center,
not his legacy, not his old excuse
Still the sick kid who got a bed deserves the center,
and both can be true
That’s the splinter under my nail,
that’s the reason I can’t sleep it through
I want a world that keeps the mercy,
keeps the help, then cuts the harm clean through
But nothing cuts that clean,
and I keep standing here, a witness in the rude

I’ll say his name like any other name,
not worshipped, not pursued
I’ll keep the record open wide,
no shrine, no blanket, no sweet brood
Let every benefit get credited,
let every wound get honored, plainly viewed
Let the town stop selling comfort,
stop buying lies in bulk, stop acting “good”
And if my chest keeps splitting over it,
fine, I’d rather split than mute the truth
I won’t call darkness “genius” just to feel smart,
I won’t call good “clean” when it’s glued
I’ll carry both, I’ll carry rage,
I’ll carry grief, I’ll carry what I should
The good he did stays real, the harm stays real,
and I stay real, stripped down, crude