Cogito

Every last one of my thoughts Is begged, borrowed or stolen Somewhere in memory They are freeze-dried or frozen I want to chip at the edifice Want to recognize what's real Is it some second-hand artifact Or a thing I can call real? Every last one of my friends Is there because I put them In some sub-cavernous lair Like a pre-ancestral cushion I want to loose my tethers Get back to a primal state Take some peyote and howl in the wind At the village doctor's gate Is there a demon in the sky A malevolent presence in the cosmos Willing it all in a masquerade And playing off my base illusions? No wonder we live No wonder we live In a state of unbridled confusion