Then I sat down to it,
Sometimes when you stop to take a breather,
You just don't give a shit,
The mind wants to focus on where you are,
As if finding yourself,
The world you've been in somehow changes you,
So that what's important is something else,
Your job, your debts, and those who attack you,
A bubble you live in,
Opaque, blocking out light, you've no body,
Most you know will give in,
It's called living,
As opposed to being,
Then you look through the bubble from outside,
To realize it's not you, you're seeing.
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