Where there’d be
writing, there is sleep
Where there’d be thought, there are sheep
Where there’d be words, an empty page
Where characters dance, an empty stage
For work has taken all I had
And though I’ve been good, and not been bad
I must to bed and take to sleep
And rid myself of a long, long week.
So the page and words will have to wait
Until the morn, until I wake
And madly scribble a phrase or two
Before the day begins anew.
(The Nut you are trying to contact is currently unavailable. Please leave a Thunderbird after the BEEEEP.)
PS: And crap, while writing this a bloody migraine has hit. I frickin’ give up. ::throws a complete hissy fit and goes to bed completely pissed off…after drugs, assuming I can see the damn things::
I wanna wriiiiiite! ::wails extensively::