i want to feel like a writer. but i know not how it feels. i want to feel like a poet. and spin my lyrical wheels. I want to feel like a free man. and cup life into my hands. i want to start a revolution. to free these crooked lands. all these things i want to know. all these things escape me so. and never, and never to come, unto me, to be under my thumb. instead these things fall from me like snow, Hey oh! so how does one take all this passion and form it into verse all these questions answers are still hid and to me nothing seems worse. This longing, this pining for expression so bold its a fervor that grips me in its sweaty hold oh woe is me, that i cannot succumb, to this feeling of wordliness that flows from my bum. you see, i talk smack, as a matter of fact. none of this is true in the least. well maybe the part about no writin knack. i do want to be a poet, but im just to verbose, there's no lack! its just...i have no courage when spawning a line and when i do, the next line shall not rhyme. so im brave full of braun and ooh-rah 'im fine' though in reality im alone with ticking-bomb time.