Sat down to write a book

But all that came out was one lousy line

Couldn't make up the story in time

It was twenty years ago today

The paper's still there in the typewriter

And I can still remember that very first line

Maybe all that I grow is a hole in myself

All I accomplish is lost on myself

Yet all I feel is the way I heal

Maybe all I can grow is this hole in myself

But then maybe I don't mind losing myself

When all I feel is the way I heal

I'm the dot at the end of the trail of debris

Been filling my void with semantic debris

Now all I feel is the way I heal