Bob Gaulke - Bad Writer Lyrics

I write with my body
I write with my hands
My heart's no more
Than a hundred crumpled pages

Every desire
Every demand
Follows the line
My pencil traces

Panties where you left them
Socks miles apart
I'm living on the floor
Where my inspiration's gone

I'm bad a writer
With no imagination
I need to see you
To know what happens

You chase a dream
Through a sleepless night
Pain compounds
With additional miles

Cake crumbs in glasses
Glasses in the yard
Letters in the shredder
Ghosts in the house

I don't know what to do
So I do what I know
I put things away
Think of you some more

I crossed a line
That I want to rub out
A smudge between
Curiosity and love

Through a carwash
With someone's best friend
You push the narrative
With your bare hands