Yourself, myself / Himself, herself / Ourself, reading books from the shelf / How many words can you force a rhyme with elf?

So write the damn song, be done with the past.

Never write a song in the afternoon … once you’ve eaten your lunch … when the day is ¾ gone … once you’ve been beaten to the punch.

I didn’t write a song today / I made up some excuse / It’s easier to run away / Than to face up to the truth ...

I try to be original, I try my own ways / But there’s no way to avoid plagiarism or clichés.

Metadiscourse is useless, but that’s all that’s left / Once the muse has flown and left me bereft.

No more trying to merge with the mainstream / Let the mainstream merge with me.