The instruments, we carefully arrange
Atop the creaking dinner-table oak -
Remember, if you get to feeling strange,
You'd better just forget it. Go for broke.
The ritual's a silly little trip,
But easy to forget. You take a seat,
You angle all the papers, get a grip,
And...
          And then...
You grip the pen and try to - hey, shut up.
I don't know. You can't force it, right?
You just have to let it... let it...
It's supposed to work, but
It's all just falling apart and there's no,
there's no rhyme, nothing, it's a mess
and, I don't know, just let it... ugh.