The bard feels all sung out
As the world around him sleeps
He is the only one left
In the right sense of mind
Who doesn't feel strung out

So he sets to write a merry tune
'pon his lute so fine
For come the morning
When the people awake
An old tune just won't shine

He tries and tries
Till the **** does crow
But sadly sunrise comes

The women start to knead their dough
To cook their breakfast buns

And the poor old Bard
In this moment did find
Of songs he wrote not a single one
And he now is out of time

i want to tell stories,
but i have no stories to tell,
my mind a dry river,
trying to hold onto what
i have left to remember,
yet not succeeding
as the memories
wash away.

thinking, thinking, thinking,
but my pipes aren't working.
the taps turn but no water comes out,
the drought in my brain growing ever still, aching for
a thought to grasp onto.

I want to create something
beautiful and true
maybe from nothing
pulled from out of the blue

I can’t rhyme worth a flip
my words keep on trip…ing
so close yet so far
they won’t flow from the hear…t

this is one big joke
I’ll probably get chok…ed
everything sounds choppy
because my mind is all flip floppity

oh yeah this is the stuff
writing from the heart is rough
watch me rhyme your socks off
then your heart will get soft soft

I’m honestly killing this
I’m honestly feeling this
this is flowing nicely
just don’t think about the rhyming -_-

okie dokie glad this is done
enough of this fun
time to get serious
theres work to be done

I'm coming home soon
I promise you.

I almost there.
I am almost bare.

Cracking back open
Every part of myself.

Taking my love back down
From the shelf.

I miss you and I need you.
I'm coming home soon.

Cause I miss writing my soul to you.