My copy pen fell to the floor I bent down to pick it up
Now I was dizzy the rook swayed.
I came here decades ago, and many pens have fallen to the floor
Although I use a word-processor.
Words are my crutches I lean heavily on them to find a meaning
And not knowing what that meaning is.
Just a vague feeling I lost something on my way to the stars.
I write at night now a steady hum tells me I have to make up
For wasted time, but my time of waste was a fun one
Full of women and sensuality