When the air conditioner buzzes
And each tick of the clock announces seconds wasted and left for waiting
When the air feels heavy, though your eyes don’t
And when you count every breath hoping for new

It comes and goes, creeping, hiding
Striking suddenly, killing productivity
Slow and painful it waits in broad daylight, poised for the strike
It is the lack of everything
Nothing would be more interesting
Because different is the cure

Imagination is the warrior
It fights the good fight
So when you sit and daydream never lose sight
For you are curing the world of reality