Even though, when you're still,
Each moment feels like an eternity,
And an example of how you've failed,
And how you're literally going nowhere,
As the world around seems to be,
Filled with busy-bodies working hard,
And accomplishing,
Because if you did not stop for a moment,
And acknowledge all of this movement,
You'd find yourself at the end of your life,
As sad as if you were a lazy pissant.
And it's alright,
To be happy in these quiet times,
The depression's simply your body's way,
Of telling you the time.
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