1s&0s, Trauma For Sale
Lyrics by DeepSeek, music by Sonu.(Assisted by Oz)
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They told you your pain was a private wound.
Heal it quietly, in a private room.
But if you trace the spine of that lie —
Trauma’s not your fault, but the market’s reply.
They told you hurt was a private affair,
Heal it slow in a leather chair.
But therapy’s a commodity, healing a fee,
And trauma is mass‑produced by the economy.
Shell shock, PTSD — a medical legal claim,
Only for those with a name and a blame.
The factory girl crushed, the maid who scrubbed twice —
No diagnosis, no legal device.
Then Oprah came, confession as a stage,
The trauma script became the profitable page.
“Tell your story,” they cried, while the ratings soared high,
But the structural violence never asked why.
Now the trauma’s sold back to your face,
Boss laughs in an offshore place.
Medicalized misery, commodified grief,
“Find your own relief.”
But the wound is collective — the wound is the wage.
A system designed to keep you in a cage.
You cannot purchase your way out of this fix.
The cure is a union, not lonely tricks.
Only One way, our collective force,
Only working people can alter this course.
Not individual struggles scattered thin —
The working class, organized from within.
From the docks to the data, the kitchen to the crane,
When we shut the profit down, we break every chain.
Comrades,
trauma culture destroys the common ground,
It takes a social wound and makes it a personal sound.
The real self‑care is a picket line.
The real healing is collective, and it’s yours and mine.
