Each day is like an empty page
And you choose what to write
Your choice of story, art, or song
To fill its pages white
That’s what I told you, but you laughed
You said you saw no cause
To ponder foolish metaphors
Much less sit down and draw
And as I watched you walk away
I recognized your crime
You filled your page with glaring blanks
And called it killing time
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC
Each day is like an empty page
And you choose what to write
Your choice of story, art, or song
To fill its pages white
That’s what I told you, but you laughed
You said you saw no cause
To ponder foolish metaphors
Much less sit down and draw
And as I watched you walk away
I recognized your crime
You filled your page with glaring blanks
And called it killing time
