Rowing took my muse away

Rowing took my muse away, but gave me abs of steel. Erging less, now what’s the deal? Seems I have some to say. Brains deprived of oxygen can’t seem to find a verse and then to make these matters worse, seems sugar is my gin. I’ve a got little fat again upon the waist, between the ears. Melodic verses I do hear; instead of oars, I stroke the pen.