The fog rolled in

The webs had formed

Tap, tap, tap,

Nothing is there

A mind without ideas

A brain sheathed in ennui

The empty barrel is hollow

It sounds like a gong

The word thieves arrived

Under the cloak of night

They stole all the ideas

They took all the prose

Squeak, Squeak, Squeak

The windows were left open

And the wind blows loudly

Causing the hinges to squeak

Clickety-Clack,

Clickety-Clack,

Clickety-Clack,

Compose, Erase,

Compose, Erase

Compose, Erase

Such is the fate

Of the uninspired writer