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.