I found my pen dead in a pool full of ink
In a scrupulous world his mark sank too deep
An non-erasable makes secrets hard to keep
I found my pen dead in pen full of ink

Can you blame my pen for fleeting out all he had left onto the blank page
When he wrote in his own rhythm’s you often got enraged
So he backtracks his writing, scribbling deeper into the page
Wasting more of his life on a mistake that’s he’s made
So he figures what’s the point
Busts his cap and falls over into the the spot where you found that Unicorn shaped Inkblot
You begin to see something about the pen that you once could not
You want to start over with him again but you cannot
Through the lesson learned by the suicide of my pen
I think instead of words I’ll draw pictures again
Perhaps this time in Crayon