Granted, they may not be the calibre of Leonard Cohen’s
I did not attend any special course or academy of writing
So the metre and rhyme may sometimes appear to be fighting
I started writing lyrics when my rock star attempts failed
I was too busy taking drugs to get the instrument nailed
By the time I realised that I would never get a record deal
I was in a mental ward only getting spoons with my meal
When inside, my legendary imaginary group decided to disband
We all decided that we could not be part of a collective brand
My other split personas all went off to do their thing
While I dreamed up another way to add a bow to my string
I had lots of time with no drink or recreational drugs to distract
Thankfully I still had some of my crazed fuelled brain intact
So I picked up a pen one day and started to let shit flow
I found it quite healing to express myself without being on blow
I soon filled up a notebook of ideas and unsuppressed thought
Most of which I’m sure would have tied my psychiatrist up in knots
I was pleased with how some of them actually appeared quite cool
Maybe this would be a way to prove to everyone I was not a fool
When I got out, I started showing them to family and friends
But they just looked at me as if I had contracted,‘The Bends’
They told me I was wasting my time and that I should totally quit
So I went back on the drugs as I can’t handle being told I’m shit
I decided to persevere with my writing but to keep it to myself
Maybe one day long into the future I would get a book upon a shelf
That was over twenty years ago and my path has not been straight
But here at last is my first book, for which you don’t have to wait
I have quite a few works of art in storage but I thought I would do a test
So I put only twenty scribbles into this first version of my quest
It won’t cost you a penny to get a small sample of the collection
Just enter your personal details, so I don’t have to face yet another rejection
Cheers!
Donate
