The Artist’s Curse

Three blind men sat on a clothing pin

Their eyes were dark and their hands were grim.

Whatever I did, whatever I said

I could not get them to leave my head

So I sat down and we spoke until

I understood their silent will.

“Who are you to leave us here,”

When all we want is a little air

Let us out, Let us out!”

They would shout.

I closed my eyes and blocked my ears

A man hiding from his fears

But that doesn’t help when they’re in your head

They just get louder till you wish you were dead.

So I sat down and I wrote this song

And before I knew it

They were gone.

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