Writer’s Block

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