Look at this,
my pen it moves
On the paper by itself.
Look at it go
all on its own,
When I had set it on the shelf.
It’s a strange thing cause
Its writing this,
But from my point of view.
You would think that this pen
of mine,
Would have its own view too.
But the pen you see
is low on ink,
And its getting kinda scared.
With each stroke
The pen it sees,
Its ending creeping nearer.
My pen must be enchanted,
By the same muse
had hold of me.
Surely this must be magic,
to become
More than you can be.
But forces you to give it all,
You see my pen,
he doesn’t think.
So driven to scribble
and jot this,
That he just ran out of inl