The Poets Ran Out of Ideas...
Posted: Fri Nov 30, 2012 1:08 pm
The Poets Ran Out of Ideas...
There once was a time when the world just shone
With the images each bard held in his scone,
But the grey matter shrivelled between the ears...
And the poets ran out of ideas.
A frantic eruption, a furious race;
Each fought for his own piece of cyberspace,
Striving to win the respect of his peers...
But the poets ran out of ideas.
The TV beckons. The PC calls.
A traitor's lurking within our walls.
The consummation of all our fears...
The poets run out of ideas.
Perhaps it's yoga? Chess? Mahjong?
Guitars and banjos, the world of song?
I'm just calling it as it appears...
The poets ran out of ideas.
Over all, there falls a frost.
Perhaps the passion has been lost?
Too many whiskeys? Too many beers?
The poets ran out of ideas.
A wicked curse? A vicious hex?
Re-discovered, the joys of sex?
Too many bulls, and not enough steers?
The poets ran out of ideas...
Fade the lights. Pull the curtain.
What to do? Of course it's hurtin'.
Howls of anguish. Floods of tears.
The poets...
Ran out of...
Ideas...
There once was a time when the world just shone
With the images each bard held in his scone,
But the grey matter shrivelled between the ears...
And the poets ran out of ideas.
A frantic eruption, a furious race;
Each fought for his own piece of cyberspace,
Striving to win the respect of his peers...
But the poets ran out of ideas.
The TV beckons. The PC calls.
A traitor's lurking within our walls.
The consummation of all our fears...
The poets run out of ideas.
Perhaps it's yoga? Chess? Mahjong?
Guitars and banjos, the world of song?
I'm just calling it as it appears...
The poets ran out of ideas.
Over all, there falls a frost.
Perhaps the passion has been lost?
Too many whiskeys? Too many beers?
The poets ran out of ideas.
A wicked curse? A vicious hex?
Re-discovered, the joys of sex?
Too many bulls, and not enough steers?
The poets ran out of ideas...
Fade the lights. Pull the curtain.
What to do? Of course it's hurtin'.
Howls of anguish. Floods of tears.
The poets...
Ran out of...
Ideas...