The muse is gone, and for him I fawn so to once more see beauty in the light of dawn

Is that so wrong to seek passion from song before the wonder is struck and says so long

How many words are there which I might prepare for this bland nothing of pale compare

Hollow, the longing to be filled with anything

Aching, to feel even pain's bitter sting

Broken, a man crushed by suffering

Empty, am I even a living thing?

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My dull verses grow the same, bleary shapes made from pain from a mind hardly sane

How often do I think these thoughts, far more often than I aught, all again it's for naught

Where are these greener fields, what eats these tasty meals, who enjoys these boring reels

A fresh breath of air cuts through this despair and I see a reason to care

But I blink and it's gone while I linger on

Another day spent confused, again I've been used, my aspirations refused

Yet still I can't break this cycle, the drip freeze drip of an icicle

I miss the pain of work, the skilled challenge. I miss my fallen brothers I've yet to avenge

I miss so many and so much, perhaps these bitter memories are my crutch

To forget might be sweet, in a swift second my past I'd delete

But what then? I'm not one to accept sour defeat.

Would I build myself anew, pick myself up by my shoe and keep pressing through

Who would accept me, where would I go, what would I do?

If only I knew, I certainly wouldn't be complaining to you.