Idle hands caress each other, lose themselves in sweet sensation.
One is Father; one is Mother, making misfits in the bargain.
Boredom soars above the morning, sprays its name across the fences,
Spells itself in numbing silence, beats the hell out of your senses.           
What’s the matter with you, you bum, ya?           
Pull your head out of your white hole!           
Don’t you know you’ve got to follow your bliss?           
Well, then, go!But the trick is in the knowing what exactly ones’ bliss may be--
So-called devil in the details (somewhat trite but very handy).
Boredom yawns and coughs and stretches, making plans to eat your heart out.
Have you ever had a passion?
Laugh at yourself, try to find it.
Pull your head out of your ass,
Push the button, break the glass,
You’ve been stuck in your morass far too long.