Tonight, this pen is dead
Although charged with a sea of ink
And softer and more stylish than ever
It writes meaningless words
That cannot sustain my hungry soul
Tonight, this pen is dead
For it can write in verse
And it can bless or curse
But it cannot touch the heart
Of the one my spirit yearns
Tonight, this pen is dead
For it matters little what it can write
When verbs and nouns cannot penetrate
The wall that keeps our hearts apart
And our beings away from eternal happiness