Musically declined I look up to check the clock
Been writing for seven hours I think I might have Writer's block
I can't think of some edgy shit to write about
And when I try to annunciate the words are slurred out of my mouth
My hand is sore, the carpal tunnel is killing me
My cussing is drown out by the sounds from the tv
I wish my music was better, and not shitty
Cause it's almost like I'm trying to hard to remain witty
All my music is about depression
Doesn't leave anybody guessing
About whats coming next
Nobody is there to question
Why life is such a shitshow
Why people are such assholes
I feel my sanity is trying to escape from my soul
So the essence flees
And my body weeps
For the place in my past where I was truly free
Where I was truly me, although now so it seems
I'll never visit that quiet place under the tree

Second verse as if anyone cares about this thing
This beat is from a producer who is better than me
My lyrics are average, my flow is weak
Why do I keep on releasing music if no ones listening

I say that I am fine
Tell people I don't mind
But I can tell that my mental state is in decline
Do I keep on going with my music
Or should I give up and do something more realistic
Maybe become a gardener
Or a chef
After I take out my music
Then what do I have left?
Some stupid memories
Equipment I won't use
Until I do stop I'll still have all these writers block blues