Pen and Paper
I am the slave,
the pen is my master.
It commands me to write,
more and more, faster and faster.
The paper is calling,
it’s screaming my name.
Why do they force me,
have they no shame?
Forced are my thoughts,
through the pen they do flow.
Who are they to coerce,
are they friends, are they foe?
I wish to stop now,
asylum I do seek.
For my hand does grow tired,
as well my mind grows weak.
But they won’t allow me to stop,
there’s no ending in sight.
They demand I continue,
so I shall… write, write, write.
Twenty Pounds of Holiday Cheer
I’ve written a couple of Christmas songs. I’ve had an easier time writing about other topics; I find writing about Christmas to be tough. What else can be said about the Christmas Holidays that hasn’t been said a hundred times before? In answering that question, this unfolded: Halloween’s barely over, still got chocolate on my chin, Candy wrappers in my pockets, Lord, where do I begin? I swore I’d start a diet, but that was last July, Now I’m eyein’ up the turkey with a hungry little sigh. One [...]
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