The Mad Writer
A writer sits in front of his old typewriter
Four corner room in solitude is where you might find him
Or maybe not, in that secluded spot
His hands get hot as the ink drops
Staring at the page, he don't blink a lot
Taking slow sips and chugging from a gold goblet
Life events made him cold-hearted, so he wrote about it
Dark lines sit deep under his eyelids
Depressed, plus in need of rest;
That's just to redirect his hatred
So many times he ain't say shit, seemed patient
But he locked them feelings in the basement
And now he writes fiction mixing moments from his past
And his fans don't understand how real they are, he had to laugh
Somebody had asked him where his inspiration was from
About a boy very young sodomized with a gun
A tear fell from his left eye and then he tried to lie
And said that in his idle time he dreamed a storyline
Going on 45
Fury since his shorty, "Worry" never dies
It will subside; reason he never kept his head up high
Seldom smiled since a pedophile that pinned him down
Now he sit around pondering on how he'd get 'em now
When you're down, drowning in the "why", "how", and the "when"
It's like a reenactment that's happening over again
Them dark clouds is over him while he was holding that pen
A good thing he started writing rather then holding it in
At this point he got 5 books published, a lot of luggage
Seemingly doing well, cause that hell, he rise above it
He kept the truth from the public with a default smile
Camouflaging cause that's the shit that he's on now
A better life to live: the house dog, the wife, and the kids
Fooling everyone but himself, walking right off the edge
Ain't nobody knows what he went through
His mate thought she could relate, he said, "not even you"
With a straight face she can't understand him, so then she exits
Clears the joint account and then bounce like he expected
Another one that wasn't built to last
He going mad sitting up in his pad
Lit with the crooked laugh
As hes typing up the next best seller
'Bout a writer end up killing himself when his ex left him
His fans read about it on the following day
"The Mad Writer" was the title, story on front page
It said...
Four corner room in solitude is where you might find him
Or maybe not, in that secluded spot
His hands get hot as the ink drops
Staring at the page, he don't blink a lot
Taking slow sips and chugging from a gold goblet
Life events made him cold-hearted, so he wrote about it
Dark lines sit deep under his eyelids
Depressed, plus in need of rest;
That's just to redirect his hatred
So many times he ain't say shit, seemed patient
But he locked them feelings in the basement
And now he writes fiction mixing moments from his past
And his fans don't understand how real they are, he had to laugh
Somebody had asked him where his inspiration was from
About a boy very young sodomized with a gun
A tear fell from his left eye and then he tried to lie
And said that in his idle time he dreamed a storyline
Going on 45
Fury since his shorty, "Worry" never dies
It will subside; reason he never kept his head up high
Seldom smiled since a pedophile that pinned him down
Now he sit around pondering on how he'd get 'em now
When you're down, drowning in the "why", "how", and the "when"
It's like a reenactment that's happening over again
Them dark clouds is over him while he was holding that pen
A good thing he started writing rather then holding it in
At this point he got 5 books published, a lot of luggage
Seemingly doing well, cause that hell, he rise above it
He kept the truth from the public with a default smile
Camouflaging cause that's the shit that he's on now
A better life to live: the house dog, the wife, and the kids
Fooling everyone but himself, walking right off the edge
Ain't nobody knows what he went through
His mate thought she could relate, he said, "not even you"
With a straight face she can't understand him, so then she exits
Clears the joint account and then bounce like he expected
Another one that wasn't built to last
He going mad sitting up in his pad
Lit with the crooked laugh
As hes typing up the next best seller
'Bout a writer end up killing himself when his ex left him
His fans read about it on the following day
"The Mad Writer" was the title, story on front page
It said...
Credits
Writer(s): Unknown Writer, Austin Robert Hartsook
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
© 2024 All rights reserved. Rockol.com S.r.l. Website image policy
Rockol
- Rockol only uses images and photos made available for promotional purposes (“for press use”) by record companies, artist managements and p.r. agencies.
- Said images are used to exert a right to report and a finality of the criticism, in a degraded mode compliant to copyright laws, and exclusively inclosed in our own informative content.
- Only non-exclusive images addressed to newspaper use and, in general, copyright-free are accepted.
- Live photos are published when licensed by photographers whose copyright is quoted.
- Rockol is available to pay the right holder a fair fee should a published image’s author be unknown at the time of publishing.
Feedback
Please immediately report the presence of images possibly not compliant with the above cases so as to quickly verify an improper use: where confirmed, we would immediately proceed to their removal.