Last updated 6-28-2022
Moving through space,
Lost in time,
Searching for words
And trying to rhyme...
The universe
Of writing song
Exists outside
Where we belong.
I sit and stare
At the blank wall.
Reject ideas,
Pace down the hall.
And then some thoughts
Materialize,
I feel a spark;
My fingers rise.
CHORUS:
The drab bard writes songs,
They don't all ring true.
Some come from his life;
Some are about you.
I'll search for a theme,
Though sometimes I won't.
My songs all make sense...
Except those that don't.
Matching my words
To cadence is tricky.
But I persevere,
'Cos I can be picky.
Wry lyricist
Armed with angst and dry wit,
I pour out my soul
And make the lines fit.
And what of the tune?
Melody counts,
Though not always
In such large amounts.
CHORUS
I'm tougher than flannel;
I'm harder than wool.
My rhapsody's boho,
Or maybe it's bull,
But create I must,
And write frantically.
The muse is upon me;
Well, not literally.
Fingers to keyboard;
A chorus, a verse.
Waxing eloquent
Or just being terse...
Tying it to music
And pinning it down
Is mildly sadistic,
Or so I have found.
CHORUS
