Maladaptive

A man at a desk in a chair
There's boredom in the air but he's come prepared
A screen for his eyes; a phone for his hands
Music for his ears at his command
A head tied to a helium balloon
Pulling time from his eyes on a quiet afternoon
Work keeps him consumed
Staying sane by hearing bad news

This is your mind's entrapment: a reaction maladaptive
Gripping detachment. You're your greatest distraction

You become what you focus on
But your attention isn't here
So you've just disappeared

Morning wears a stale perfume
And the end of the day comes all too soon
Never enough work, never enough booze
She'll rearrange the furniture but can't change the room
Who she knows the least the most distracts
From feelings that she can't relax
Now she's the habit of coming prepared
The more she pays attention the more she don't care

This is your mind's entrapment: a reaction maladaptive
Gripping detachment. Even distractions are distracted

You'll wake up tomorrow
In the afternoon one summer
The sun boiling the water
Holding your daughter's daughter
With your mind all tied
And identified with every thought

You become what you focus on
But your attention isn't here
So you've just disappeared