Two-thirds drift through the day in a haze,
Clocking those hours in uninspired ways.
You say “Life’s hard,” “It is what it is,”
But you know that you’re missing that bliss.

 

You show up, zone out, endure the grind,
Chained by a story stuck in your mind.
"Have to," "Must," and "Gotta get through"—
Those hours unhappy are debts come due.

 

You rate your life by tasks complete,
Clueless you’re sowing your own defeat.
Happiness hides in the path you tread—
Not so much in the goals ahead.

 

If work feels joyless every day,
Then hour by hour your life decays.
Another eight gone down the drain—
“Just make it through,” your sad refrain.

 

Entertainment’s great, just do the math,
Laughter and rest are part of your path.
But counting minutes ‘til clock out time—
Wasting those hours should be a crime.

 

Your culture applauds what you did.
To put joy first, you’re intrepid.
So loving your work, that must be first—
To not do this, yourself you’ve cursed.

 

Reclaim your life three minutes at a time,
That’s all it takes to find sublime.
A Fresh Start blooms in moments small—
The power to shift lives in us all.

 

If work feels joyless every day,
Then hour by hour your life decays.
Another eight gone down the drain—
“Just make it through,” your sad refrain.