Timothy had everything that he'd need A wife, a job, a home He worked in a tower spending his hours Calling and answering phones His words to a pageHe screams and he shakes To watch it goHis pen, as a knife Carves their ink-bleeding lies Into stone Starting bright and early Out by 6:30Walking into the fire Returning back in ashes Rusted steel he crashes Back towards his desire His hands grip the wheel of the poetry that heals His endless grief The more he drove away from all his convoluted ways He finally breathed That's not the only way the story goes Each word's a double-sided, coded note And all she sees is apathy As he's re-writing history The Author's novel writes the Author home