song lyrics
An Old Scab lyrics
I sit each morning
Look at my empty notebook
The room is quiet
The air conditioning sounds like rain falling
Manic-depressive composer Robert Schumann
When he could not write
He d get down on his knees and he would pray for help
It s not as bad as eating your own liver
But still, I d like to think that there are better methods
I try to tackle the page that lay before me
But then I drift off and think about the concept of ben-wah balls
I rouse myself and I finish washing dishes
Make lists of errands
Make all my phone calls
And then I pray for help
But each time I try to make a fresh stab
I end up just picking at an old scab
song lyrics
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