ALL OF HIM

The lonely writter
Sat on his own desk,
Hearing his own noises,
Feeling the emptyness
Of his own house.
And with his own hands
He took his own feather
And his own book and wrote
"Gotta do all,
Gotta be all."
But he already have it all
All of his own emptyness
And his own freedom.
His own clock ticking
In his own head:
Clock ticking, time passing,
Time tacking, time screaming.
Gota do all,
Gotta be all.
So he stand up,
Put his own jacket
And leave his own house
To face a world
That he doesn't own,
With a life that he doesn't own.
'Cause his life owns him,
'Cause his life slaves him.
Gotta do all,
Gotta be all,
Be all but not yourself.