The mind fragile and of glass
Isn't steel, metal, or brass
The brain, our personal inkwell
Often lays dormant, under a spell
This cursed trickery revels in glee
It has won out in our conformity
The inkwells dried up and bottles empty
Because we don’t need paper, save the trees
No medium of personality transferable
No way to express individuality preferable
Waste away each and every day
Discussing and pondering what you should say
Forget the technology we appraise so
Separate yourself from this death row
Dust off your inkwell and fill it to the brim
Pull out your pen and brush so form-fittingly slim
Speak words aloud freshly scribed
Sing songs whose lyrics you’ve long past modified
Even if outcast and misunderstood
Genuine emotion can find its way from the woods
Stop hiding in the forest so lost and alone
The trees are the people all carrying the same tone
Clean out the attic so dusty back home
Rediscover your inkwell and let your mind roam
