Smokey spirals
The smell is viral
It has you once
And you can’t let go
It’s what you know
You’ve been brung low
You hate the bitch
But you can’t let go.
In blinking cursors
The time grows worser
Where’s relief
When you can’t write?
It’s not coming to light,
It’s a sad, sad sight,
‘Cuz you were prolific
But now you can’t write.
Imagine cliffs
And Mafia stiffs
You’ve done it all
And it was better before.
Your ideas are poor
And you're not getting any more
So you recycle the old stuff
But it was better before.
The cycle is vicious
But oh-so delicious
Like another cigarette
After failing to quit.
Sometimes it’s just shit
At least you wrote for a bit
Even though you told yourself
That you’d try to quit.
What you couldn’t say
For days and days
You put it all together
On one single page.
Cuz you’re so happy and gay
That the block went away
You forget it’s just temporary
And fill up the page.
You lose some stuff
Some ideas are gone
And the end result
You feel is just wrong
But whatever you know?
It’s real at heart
And that’s all that matters
When you suck at your art.
