Is it too late to ask again
or must the pain of empty gains
rain down on a trip to memory lane?
like the last gasp of summers grass
I have to ask
Why does this love have to end so fast?
Your empathy played a symphony
with an encore to my apathy
but do you see there is no more sympathy
in my heart for you to see
This Shakespearean tragedy
Has no more blood to bleed
No fear to see
Like a lung with no air
I'll end this line in despair.
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I once wrote a song for a Man
With Music and Words for a Band
I thought that I loved him, so
I wrote and I wrote
I have a suitcase full of Songs
With his name resting between the lines
It seems a time, so long
Ago, that I opened up my eyes
I have nothing left to write
Only I didn't know it then
I only know it now, and its trite
That I can't start again
This pen is empty, there is no ink
And I, have no will, to refill it.
- Carrot
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