When you wish upon a star
Disney gives your plastic a charge.
Everything your heart desires
is sold by them.

It don't matter what you are,
diamond, superheroes, or a car.
All the things that you don't have
will consume you.

In the heap of your dreams,
where the toddlers scream,
or the bottles multiply
as trash trembles lonely.
You can realize that mess
is your reflection and catch
yourself slipping,
but it's better to smile
and throw on a filter.

The torment ain't demon sent,
it's a buzz bomb delusion,
a hangover that never stiffens.
It's a rose-colored cause screaming,
"We are the Revolution!"
Got your stitch group working like a pit crew,
bringing your NASCAR life
into the next cycle of fifty cries?
You got that try?
Put on that pride.
Show The Man you'll take a stand
by putting Jacksons in his hands.

Like Miranda we're all vulnerable to recuperation.
We are co-opted in the jockeying to place best in
the race for financial ruin. Watch the billionaires
carve our rights as day and night becomes the
slavers right to push the same ads on eyes blind
to quality, snorting mediocrity so our brains
don't cave to the weight of a thousand Mondays.

Hamilton's legacy is the stock rise
lining up our ghost climb. Wallstreet's
laughing as the do-anything ruffians
join the grift on poverty. They took
the best from me. They grabbed
every smile I ever had as a child
and repacked it with a new sticker
so their copyrights never lose
the fight to give the mouse his tithe.

Now all that we are and all that we want,
is a link away as the under-produced interface,
wheels as it lags to give dope a false break,
so when it pops our brains go "Hell yeah"
and praises the steal of dollars.
It's our power and they turned freaks
to clean fans who'll purchase every launch
and treat loners in computer chairs
like mother fucking boy bands.

News stands are prop' plans.
Open criminals given pulpits
to preach while their greed is applauded.
Gnarled hands reach wrist deep
in the chest of Justice,
only to rip out a pound of flesh
that no longer beats.

It's the beat down of the millennium,
so they gotta hit hard early.
Hide the fascist rise with snide jokes
like they're posting on forums.
It don't matter.
They could take a shit
on Middle America's grandma
and they'd still claim the billionaires
came from Jesus's cross.
Cuz their long haul starts
with complacent and ends without drama.

It is the total obliteration of all thoughts of liberation.
The death of liberty was clapped on silver screens
to a small giant of industry, only to be traded up
to a mouse with no balances, only checks to oppress
the workers or can't survive less. If they die, no regrets.

That's why gen Z is prepped for simping.
So they'll smile and work single file,
defending the boot's right to trample.
"Don't companies deserve to have profit?"
While they scrape and swallow pills
to kill hate and perform compulsory praise
so sempai will notice their rise to instant fame.

That dream of starlight makes dogs out of the wolfs of our night.
We are made equal to the media we consume,
a low effort empty calorie food.
But our tired masses need to get up off our asses and look at the sky.
There are no stars only the buzz of a billion lies burning our minds blind.

The love that we need is a bond beyond family.
It is the unshakable faith that good is in humanity,
it's in those silenced next to your feet. Good
is constant and it is the hand of friendship
offered to those who distance themselves
willingly until that tragic end.
Our friends are not phone deep.
They are a sprawl of bodies
who hug and express sympathy.

There is a love in rebellion

and I've seen it in from nurses.
I've heard it in the tears of voices
who tell reporters,
"What else can we do?"
I've heard it in the chorus
of thousands marching on Washington.
In the dream of a man who was shot dead
and cremated with adulatory.

I know our path is long and we might not win.
But the struggle for air can't be a swipe and a click.
It must be with bodies.
It must be in the flesh.
It must be loud and constant
                                and loving those who can't stand.
They tell us we're all ugly so our voices are shit.
They tell us to reject patience
                and transform romance to a game we can't win.
They want us on our phones on every breath.

With every moment.
To be there for our streamers
crying because their mask
can't stay smiling all the time.
They want us to see heroes

as capes and not friends.
So we'll keep buying popcorn
and jerking off to porn
and forgetting what it means to be human.