I wish I could stop being so depressed
Then I could finally write actual fiction
But I'm so preoccupied
Thinking that my one note scheme is justified
And they can write about the night
Give life to every star in the sky
And I'm stuck in Arial font, doing my own therapy
Writing how I wanna
I wrote a poem about a piano
And said it was a wounded soldier
Even a treasure producing gorgeous melodies
Took a bullet just by standing next to me
What if the sun comes up and the weeds rot
Would I become a decent writer
Or is that idea as improbable
As the fiction I'll say I'll write
And let this one note stick in your head
Like the flu, like the flu, like the flu
And it'll sing even when it is dead
This is you, this is you, this is you