In a thin solitude of white noise through a warm pre-dawn of hope thoughts form in the steam of his coffee through the haze of the wine and the dope An early draft barely breathing faint notes in the margins await he approaches with cold trepidation and a fear that he'll never be great He knows he can't dodge his compulsion this obsessive desire to write the rhythmic tap of the keys a propulsion that's too hard to fight He bears witness to the chaos around him he uncovers with truthful disdain a fact of the human condition that we're all in emotional pain Words structured into an arrangement together they swing and sway they help him avoid a derangement and usher the light into day He knows he can't dodge his compulsion this obsessive desire to write the rhythmic tap of the keys a propulsion that's too hard to fight
