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