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• Artiste: Her Space Holiday
• Titre: The Death Of A Writer
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If the death of a writer brings life in his readers Then what does that mean that we?re still breathin? All of us have learned our words Some of us have less and some have more but They?re all equally capable of ruining things for A simple kiss to an apology To a I miss a eulogy and It all depends how you tap those typing keys Like a dusty old sack under that magazine rack We?re just a floor full of issues With our burdens printed on our backs One time in Texas as I browsed those endless aisles And I thumbed through those volumes And sifted through those piles I wondered if they could go back in time Would they twist the plot and move a lot and Are they haunted by their reprints late at night And I thought about my own tales And how often the hero failed and Should I do some revising of my own A warped piece of wax on that gramophone mat we just Spin and spin and spin as our pasts Keep on playing back Be careful what you wish for