The nib sticks to paper the ink has dried

my words shred the page and shrivel inside

I have my music though, who needs to write?

I have those songs of yester-years carefully compiled.

The playlist is a time-machine, it took me there today

to that home of long ago, to time that played

on a never ending loop of pop and rock,

When my thoughts had muscle and my dreams still had gold.

That little girl is still there, that little girl I so want to hold

the one with wide big eyes and dreams in capitals and bold.

I dare not reach for her, I stand back with a sigh

for when she turns to me I know she has tears in her eyes.