Patterns

Those empty pages Promise unknown Those endless hours No words of your own The well has run dry There's not a drop left Nothing remains to slake that thirst Patterns that once were new Now all seem so dull Not much to offer Content to carry on On a couch ever softer Stifling yet a yawn The well has run dry There's not a drop left Nothing remains to slake that thirst Patterns that once were new Now all seem so dull You're passing the baton Faded & withdrawn The well has run dry There's not a drop left Nothing remains to slake that thirst Patterns that once were new Now all seem so dull Days are all too noisy Nights never long enough You only seem to want to Vanish with a puff...