• You'll never look at my weathered hands
    And admire me for what I've done.
    You'll never read a word I've said
    Or the stories I have spun.

    So no longer will I try to grasp you.
    No longer will I annoy.
    You've never shed a tear at my agony
    Or broke a smile at my joy.

    I'm going to stop turning to the paper
    Because no one will ever see
    The passion that spills from the pen
    And what that means to me.

    I'll never know what it's like to sell
    I'll never have my dreams come true.
    The one thing that won't take me anywhere
    Is the only thing I want to do.

    They say that artists suffer
    But this isn't even really an art.
    Art goes up in galleries
    While words stay in the heart.