The Collective Unconscious

I got this provocative

Book in my hand,

And

A nonchalant

Look in my eye

I understand

What I got is this pin code

Embedded in my head

And a serial number

Printed under my mind,

Like I'm

Being monitored

And watched all the time.

I'm so conspiratorial

I could teach a tutorial

On how to be paranoid:

Oh no, you hear that noise?

Better watch out behind you!

You hear a click on the phone?

Does your internet freeze?

Does your mind play tricks on you?

Or is it truth that it speaks?

Telling you about groups,

Secret handshakes and kings.

What the Caesars

Of the troops of America think.

In a blink it's all gone

Then we're speaking Chinese,

Shakespeare's language is no more

And English falls to its knees,

So I take to the street,

And by that I mean this sheet.

I occupy Wall Street

With these lyrics I speak,

Like the ninety-nine percent

Is embedded in me

Like ethanol in unleaded

To keep the ground water clean.

Too often we see

The working-class get shafted.

Who doesn't have to work?

Is the question I'm asking.

We should all live leisurely

And be the ones relaxing,

Analytically discussing art,

As if,

We could possibly

Understand the starving

Artist's motivation,

Or the suffering,

Which acts as

The source of his passion.

As well as your reaction,

The catalyst is his heart.

Is art just a distraction

From the problems we got?

Or is it a microcosmic

Fact-based abstraction

Of the collective unconscious