Why must a poet write such things
Of sorrow and despair?
Does he not understand he brings
The darkness with him there?

He brings a hollow lonesome wind
That chills us to our souls
Each time he waves his mournful pen
The breeze of heartache blows

For he writes with pure emotion
Where demons sometimes sleep
He will write of his devotion
He's ever reaching deep

He will write of his rejection
He lives with every day
He knows no words of affection
His mind doesn't work that way

So write on now lonely poet
And tell us of your scars
Tell us of your lonely prison
With heartache as your bars