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!
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