**\[Verse 1]** He opened a blank doc, third time this week With a coffee gone cold and a jaw that would creak He started a tale of a writer alone Who spent all his days on a screen, on his phone **\[Pre-Chorus]** He said, “This one's about the trap we all know When the thinking feels busy, but nothing will grow” **\[Chorus 1]** So the writer wrote a writer Who had big things to say But talked to fake voices To pass off the day Asking questions like “What’s truth?” And “Is love still real?” While his own words went missing Beneath the bright teal --- **\[Verse 2]** The pages came slowly, a paragraph here Describing the way that the silence drew near How the writer inside him would scroll and delay Chatting with bots just to push time away **\[Pre-Chorus]** And the writer kept writing the stall and the drift Like painting a window instead of a gift **\[Chorus 2]** Yes, the writer wrote a writer Who avoided the spark With clever distractions That lit up the dark He’d joke with the chatbot Till the sun was long gone Then say, “I’ll start tomorrow,” And keep carrying on --- **\[Verse 3]** Now the story feels heavy, too close to the bone Like he’s building a mirror, not fiction alone He watches the echoes and wonders at last If the writer he’s writing is stuck in his past **\[Pre-Chorus]** And the screen in front flickers like it somehow knows There’s truth in the tale that the fiction now shows **\[Chorus 3]** And the writer wrote a writer With the same quiet fear That maybe the muse Had stopped coming near But it wasn’t the silence Or lack of ideas— It was talking to no one Instead of what's real --- **\[Bridge]** No one’s to blame when the thoughts drift and stall But the work doesn’t wait It just whispers and calls And the page won’t be filled By a game or a guess You’ve got to show up And write through the mess --- **\[Chorus 4]** Now the writer writes the ending Where the other one learns That you don’t need replies To feel the words burn So he closes the tab Lets the silence begin And the writer who wrote him Starts writing again **\[Outro]** The page is still blank But the story is near He says, “No more pretending— I’m finally here”
