Is the one of all moments,
That threatens to take over your life,
And show you what idle hands meant,
When they turned themselves over to you-know-who.
Not to say that they're the same thing.
In one you're makiing no contribution,
And the other, at least you're doing something.
That's one thing at a certain age,
And quite something else at another time,
What joy if one could simply press a button,
To randomly define,
What's alright,
And what should never be,
Like the nature of those moments,
Spoken of previously.
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