They told us to stay inside
From the virus we must hide.
But where’d it come from? Why’s it here?
Is it agrotech like some fear?
Or could it be a bio-tool
Designed to cull the most uncool?
Don’t come near me, I might scream,
Worse than any Hitchockian screen.
Could it be the Truman show, where we’re being set up
And someone gloats?
You see, the mind goes round and round
For an answer must be found.
This is the age of man eat man,
Profits flowing to some male hands.
Am i anxious, doctor? Well, a bit,
My system’s already taken a hit.
If the virus were my crown
I’d be so afraid it’d take me down.
And so, the anxious age arrives
Medieval fears and four wheel drives
Some may call it Anthropocene
But it feels like a Xanaxocene.