I'll write until there is no life left in the tips of my fingers,
As if frost covered my body and left me feeling less.
When there is no feeling left to place in words,
I'll write until the last drop of blood leaves my heart.
As long as the blues still runs in my veins
I have to get it all out into ink.
It doesn't come out in the same color
Because the feelings are expelled out and exhausted.
Don't you turn blue when you've given all your heart can take?
The connection of rhythm and meaning is one of the few talents I possess.
Every feeling has a beat.
Every moment has background music,
But you don't become conscious of the music until you pay close attention.
Your heart beats differently at different situations.
My heart is most musical and melodic when I'm holding a pen.
I'm writing my cardiac electrical activity
on this heart monitor called paper,
But I know one day it'll come to an end.
The moment I drop the pen is the moment I give in.
Until the end of my time I'll continue to rhyme.