We take, and we take, and we take…
There’s no longer any creativity left in the world.
It sits there with a clandestine plan, hiding all of its secrets,
In the deepest recesses of the world.
If it didn’t,
We’d definitely take them.
So I sit here, a pencil in hand,
Or a keyboard in front of me,
And I drain it dry.
The world is dying,
And I’m plagiarizing its agony.