Lying here alone in the dark / In the faint glow of the clock / Counting the heartbeats in my pillow / In no mood for taking stock ...

I had to move on / Get a groove on / Put my shoes on / And walk away from the BLUNGE.

Metadiscourse is useless, but that’s all that’s left / Once the muse has flown and left me bereft.

And how come it’s been taking me so long to do this / What’s been keeping me from being this way / It’s been taking me so long to understand

What’s going on? Where did all the inspiration go? What happened? What became of all the copious flow? For a while it was like the dam burst

from morning till night / from loose until tight / all I ever do is sit

You can procrastinate but you can’t escape / This is the craft you’ve made your own.