Ink on my fingers, what memories that brings
Young lad at school, writing of things
What for him will the future hold?
Writing so powerfully, clearly, and bold.
Wielding his pen as though it a sword
Quiet satisfaction his only reward
His words were electric, they lodged in your soul
He argued, persuaded, convinced and cajoled
His writing became famous all over the land
And people provided to his every demand
But then he awakened from having a nap
And found what he'd written was totally crap.