[Intro] I sit down Five seconds of peace Then somebody appears like “Hey, can you do something?” No. I found a chair I found some silence I found the rarest commodity known to mankind: A moment where nobody needs me to find it [Verse 1] Why must every second have a purpose? Why's relaxation suddenly considered worthless? I sit down, immediately: “Can you clean this?” “Can you move that?” “Can you help me with this?” Man, can you help me with the fact That I am currently doing absolutely jack? I ain't lazy I am resting There is a difference worth respecting But apparently the moment I recline Everybody develops a chore at the exact same time [Hook] Find somebody else Find another set of hands Find another willing volunteer With a different set of plans I am occupied With occupying my seat If the task ain't catastrophic Then it can fucking wait for me [Verse 2] Every time I achieve tranquility Someone initiates domestic activity Suddenly I'm drafted Into some miscellaneous mission With absolutely no prior recognition Of my established intention Which was: Nothing. I wanted nothing. Not laundry Not dishes Not organization Not your five-minute “little favor” That somehow mutates into a fucking renovation You call it responsibility I call it recreational tyranny You call it “just helping out” I call it the systematic assassination Of my afternoon [Hook] Find somebody else I have already been found By the couch By the silence By the glorious absence of sound Find somebody else I have nothing left to prove If I wanted to accomplish something I would have fucking moved [Verse 3] But now the irritation is accelerating My patience is deteriorating My tolerance is evaporating My vocabulary is proliferating Because apparently My leisure requires authorization What fresh bureaucratic abomination Has decreed that sitting down Constitutes an invitation? Why is my inactivity Being treated as an open vacancy? Why does every visible moment of peace Become an administrative opportunity? I am not unemployed I am not malfunctioning I am not an unattended resource Awaiting redistribution I am resting. That is the fucking course. [Bridge] And if you ask me one more time To perform some arbitrary chore I swear this room will witness A linguistic escalation of proportions Previously undocumented in domestic history [Final Verse] Because now we're beyond annoyance This is categorical This is philosophical This is practically metaphysical The sheer presumptuousness The compulsive imposition The relentless requisition Of my finite cognition You have transformed A perfectly innocuous interval of leisure Into an existential referendum On my willingness to participate In your ever-expanding ecosystem Of unnecessary obligations And for what? A cup? A towel? A fucking drawer? No. Absolutely not. I reject Your petty little errands Your spontaneous assignments Your chore-based insurgency Your domestic authoritarianism Your ludicrous expectation That every moment I am not visibly productive Must therefore be harvested [Outro] So when I sit down Let me sit down. When I breathe Let me breathe. When I do nothing Understand that nothing Is exactly what I intended to do. And if you've got another chore— [find somebody else]
