My hands are not clean
You know what I mean
Appearance only matters
Truth is rarely seen
We importantly convened
And then our rooms were cleaned
By low-wage workers
That we claim somewhere in our schemes
We drank on the patio till late
Local and organic all the food we ate
A chance encounter with a ‘dozer* operator
Was a chance for the self-important to denigrate
Our ancestors’ bodies were commodities
Now we treat economics as an oddity
It doesn’t seem to glitter
Like the Ivory Tower scraps we codify
Yawning at our own contradictions
Yelling to each other we are above affliction
I write this on a computer
Built in slavery conditions
Below immigration trails are money flows
Hatred reigns when competition grows
We reject material reality
To obsess over celluloid woes
At base is a question we rarely debate
Who benefits from our acceptance of this fate?
As we play at loyal opposition
We maintain the hegemony of the corporate state
*Bull-dozer