Who Am I But A Paper And A Pen


Who am I but a paper and a pen?
Time will change, but my words will never bend
Who am I but a paper and a pen?
The ink so sweet
It can destroy and make amends
An onerous artist
Who tries his hardest to sort
All his troublesome thoughts in his lonesome fort
The magnitude of time wavers in his head
Séance to séance,
All he meets is the dead
Whose hopes and dreams are of a pungent red
For what hope has a man who has bled and bled?
What am I but a paper and a pen?
Ink on ink I think of now and then
Of words never said
Alive or dead
My words bleed my color of red
What am I but a paper and a pen?
Nothing, but a force to offend and defend

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