When everything becomes cliché
I'm left with nothing new to say
No random thought, no handy tip
Or poorly executed quip
But still I'm here, centre stage
To keep you busy, fill a page
It's hard to find the will to rhyme
In absence of a paradigm
The words align, all prim and neat
For most of them, a grim delete
At first they come across inspired
But just like me, they're worn and tired
And all I've said, I needn't say
For even this has been cliché

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