Disaster Response

When my computer crashed and lost its files
There was some backup, but not everything
Could be restored, and I was left to sing
Dark, musty melodies in ancient styles.
The air was thick, the blood was on the tiles.
We sat upon the ground then, with the king,
And told sad stories. I kept wondering
Why erstwhile friends were rolling in the aisles.

My brother mocked me, and the rest of them
Were openly dismissive of my plight.
Could I trust no one to eschew delight
At my disaster? They tugged at my hem
And said I ought to demonstrate more phlegm.
So I spat mercilessly. That felt right.