An empty paper in front of me,
And the pen that,
Is supposed be the link between,
My thoughts and the written word.

I always believed that,
I could write about anything,
But I am always wrong somehow.

Wrong somehow,
And I can't find a way,
To release the poetry,
I hide in the closet deep inside.

And why do you hear these words,
When I have nothing to say,
I am only trying to complete this song,
So you can see,
See that I don't know,
That I don't know,
The way to find the words,
I'm given time,
Time to find a rhyme,
But all I do is write these empty lines,
Though I wish that I could.

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