Ode To Just Another Writer

So finally the book is done You'd think I had some time for fun The query letters have been sent There's some cash left to pay the rent The mail man comes by every day He waves to me and goes away You grab the letters stacked inside At this point you've got no pride Ads and bills are all that's there Do the agents really care? How the hell do you get fame? If no one really knows your name Do you try and make a pitch? Will that really make you rich? And who the hell will pay the bill? If nothing's left inside your till So do I just go back and write? Is this not a losing fight? Can't cut corners anymore Need my nickels for the store For fame I'll have to wait awhile While pushing burgers with a smile No need to feel both sad and sour Hey! My pay's ten bucks an hour!