He does not speak at the funeral.
When nations die, there are a number of ways they can go. Some wink out of existence in an instant. Others struggle against their fate with all their might before going out in a blaze of glory. In some rare cases, perhaps less than once a millennia, a nation wastes away, taking years before they die.
Germany thought that the last option was, without a doubt, the worst way to go. Trapped by the looming knowledge of your death, cut off from your past people, unable to fight against the ticking clock. The sickness that ravaged a nation's body when they lost their people was indescribable. The pain was clear. Germany could still remember the shouts and moans, the whimpers and the whispered pleading for a swift death. The body's rejection of everything; nourishment, painkillers, a complete rebellion against everything and anything, including itself. The insanity set in instantaneously. Nations were different from humans, but put them through enough pain and their minds could be broken just as easily.
Germany knew firsthand. He had witnessed it. He had seen it destroy everything a nation was, everything they had been, until nothing was left but a mess of broken, sobbing, pleading ex-nation. They lost who they had been long before they died. Their fellow nations mourned the loss years before the final breath was drawn.
His bruder had ceased to exist the day the Kingdom of Prussia was dissolved. And that is why he does not speak at the funeral.