We breathe in popular culture
Like a strain of flu
That paralyses the mental faculties
And blinds the corners of the eye
We work for popular causes
What will catch the eye of the masses
And portray the shining face of proxy philanthropists
On the front cover of an elitist magazine
In a tux that could feed a thousand mouths
We float like Aladdin on a dollar bill
Searching for the panacea of evils
Then we dump blood money or drug money
And call for the muscle of a green genie
To settle all social evils
We see the plight of refugees
But we don’t gaze at the needle marks of a junkee
We feel for one side of Abraham’s lineage
Yet we slaughter the other
We search for fame like politicians
And imprison the true freedom fighters
We seek utilitarianism over deontology
Just to soothe our consciences
We smuggle children out of borders, even wombs
We smuggle penises into serial vaginas
Just to feel alive in the name of popular culture
We carry black books, little books, red books
Yet we are absent of true memories
We wear masks in public
And we wear blindfolds in front of mirrors
We search for salvation in the majority
We search for loopholes in the conscience
We seek our identity in peers
We reflect counterfeit identities, just to belong
We are mules of dopamine, of the drug called lust
Yet we are estranged to oxytocin, the drug of love
We are creatures seeking pleasure over pledges
We don’t wear rings only the ring of a condom
We practice mechanical sex with no soul or love
In the absence of creativity or expression
We are fools thinking that we are the gods of the times
When we are merely idiots lost to the decadence of the times