I've got a problem in that when I write, I find myself assailed by the second sight. I've no idea where it's coming from, But it makes all the words come out wrong
That's why the lyrics flow at the speed of sound.
But none of them seem to make much sense,
Maybe I'm stuck in the imperfect tense.
Mirror, mirror on the wall
There's a ghost in the house
That I can't see at all
He's making me write some pretty strange things
I guess I'll check with the llama in the hall
I'd like to tell you what it's like,
But I'm trying to avoid the snake on a bike.
No I'm not, I didn't mean that,
What I mean is the cat in the hat.
You see what I mean, this is not fun,
When the earthquake hides the molten sun.
Just remember next when you shake your fist,
That all I am is the lyricist.