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Sometimes I sit and I'm staring at a blank page,
Sometimes it all flows too fast.
And my fingers're struggling to keep up with my brainwaves,
Until its all out at last.
But then I read it back and it doesn't make any sense,
So I've got to write it again.
Is it good, is it bad, I'm sitting on the fence,
At war with my paper and pen.

But then sometimes I sit back, my mind has grown weary,

And my eyes glide over the words.

But as I read the scribbles and get down to the theory,

Suddenly it's not all so absurd.

When you realise that you've created a thing,

And others are reading it too,

And as your words spread, your heart, it sings,

These people are connected to you.

By J. Barrett