Either it's plain frustration
Or another crumpled paper
To lie beneath my desk
A forgotten comic caper
Where is the music
That's part of the song
And is each word I write
Another rhyme still-born
Orpheus had his lyre
And followed Eurydice beneath
I have all my rhymes
And crumpled papers near my feet
Hope was maybe yesterday
And someone closed the hatch
In the graveyard of lost songs
There are none to catch
