I can't feel my spirit.
This body is so strange to me.
Slipping through the subway grates,
My flesh dissolves into plastic seats.
I feel no difference between it and me.
Work my fingers across my face,
To see if I am still there.

Vanishing and appearing in the reflection again,
I don't identify with that thing that I am.
It feels like I am separate from it,
It feels like I don't belong in it.
No longer a temple,
No longer a place for a spirit.

One great big seductive neon distraction,
Convincing us into buying:

L-shaped couches,
Makeup kits,
Brand new cars
and television sets.

I work for freedom and pay for slavery.
The things I own I've become.
**** it all, who needs freedom?