Back of my head, I feel a dull ache
From staring too long at a blank page
I just don’t have anything to say
It’s all been done, it’s all been done
These days I find it hard to even start
Not much is left until I tear it all apart
Everything that I’ve written so far
Not good enough, not good enough
Maybe I, maybe I
Will never feel I got it right, got it right
I guess I’ll let you decide, you decide
But I have my doubts
Maybe I, maybe I
Should try again another time, another time
I forget to live a life, live a life
Worth writing about
