| |
APART
I remember for the very first time hearing
Words that had not been experienced
But on reflection treated the subject matter well
And I have heard singers sing like impostors
Because it was not there words
That they took to the stage to sell
But what is the wordsmith
Without the tortured poet
That suffers for his art
Yet cant play the part
Because his mundane life is a million lifetimes apart.
|