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The hours tick as i sit and stare
Im a man of promise but i rest nowhere
boredome hits and strikes my bones
why dont you leave me be, just leave me alone

i strech my tongue with paper and pen
as the hours keep ticking again and again
the cylinder swings on the clock back and forth
teasing my being teasing my soul

Time wants me to write, time wants me to play
like a bird who pecks on wood all of the day
lift me from this old tired song
let my voice sing all the quarter notes wrong

I guess im stuck till i hit my niche
which is writing or playing tell me which is which
for me playing is writing and to write is to play
i hope thats where my being will rest without delay

soft and comforting is the creative processes i do
the hours tick slower and break away from the leu
my sitting and starring had ceased in its tracks
the longer i compose the more i sit back