I type on the keys, pressing thoughts into the table
But if Shel taught me anything it's that when I'm perfectly able
I like to flip the board up and conjure words up like flames
that lick at the tip of inspiration and pain
I want to write it
Want it to write itself
I want to write the piece that embodies myself
words stretched like a little stick figure me
a pen, some paper, my brain kaleidoscope, and a cup of coffee
I'd like to be God for just one piece
Make a world from my palm with a galaxy up me sleeve
I want to make words that I've never heard of before
perflexed and transturned into a word cival war
a poem, a piece, an alphabet masterpiece
Every book you've ever had that's ever meant anything
is a simple unique arrangement of 26 letters on 26 keys
Numbers are jealous, of the words that we say
"How shall I compare thee to a summer's day"
All they have is 1, 2, 3
At best I credit numbers for "infinite"
Yet, at best, that's not truly theirs
These words, they're ours, they're mine, they're yours
The words, the words, they've fallen in love with the pen
they come back for more, leave, and come back again.
They lay asleep on the keys before I impress them to wake
A five minute writing exercise challenge I'll take
But if Shel taught me anything it's that when I'm perfectly able
I like to flip the board up and conjure words up like flames
that lick at the tip of inspiration and pain
I want to write it
Want it to write itself
I want to write the piece that embodies myself
words stretched like a little stick figure me
a pen, some paper, my brain kaleidoscope, and a cup of coffee
I'd like to be God for just one piece
Make a world from my palm with a galaxy up me sleeve
I want to make words that I've never heard of before
perflexed and transturned into a word cival war
a poem, a piece, an alphabet masterpiece
Every book you've ever had that's ever meant anything
is a simple unique arrangement of 26 letters on 26 keys
Numbers are jealous, of the words that we say
"How shall I compare thee to a summer's day"
All they have is 1, 2, 3
At best I credit numbers for "infinite"
Yet, at best, that's not truly theirs
These words, they're ours, they're mine, they're yours
The words, the words, they've fallen in love with the pen
they come back for more, leave, and come back again.
They lay asleep on the keys before I impress them to wake
A five minute writing exercise challenge I'll take