Within a cage, and without a care not a single thought to share and my nerves are set ablaze The ink well that I sink or swim in The canvas that plays hide and seek with my verve; It remains blank.
It's funny how we want to be uncaged While we run around and we never act our age
It's a frostbite It's a cold burn, like dry ice afflicting your mind It's a red light when you're on the run from the dangers of falling behind
I've got a strange and steady sentiment that there is something that pits against the intentions of my pen We walk around with our hands in knots We're keeping time like a broken clock but Even so, we are right every now and again
It's that accidental, undesired mark The feeling of ruining your own art
We are one step away from being one big ticking clock without a sense of time.