Deadline
I've got my tea, my coffee-pot
Is full of decaf, piping hot.
There's candy on my pillowcase;
My prof has given three months grace.
My notes are somewhere in my mess,
I've got a PC on my desk.
My finger's tapping on the keys -
But I'm as blank as blank can be.
CHORUS: It's writer's block, it's writer's block!
It gets you looking at the clock.
You take a walk, you take a shower,
And you've just lost another hour.
Your eyes dilate, your head feels light -
But still there's nothing you can write.
I know I'm sane, I'm not upset
That I'm not off the first page yet.
I know if I can concentrate
I won't be more than four months late.
It's just the PC has this whine -
It jitters up and down my spine.
I have it written in my mind
If only I could just unwind.
CHORUS
They say they'll take the jacket off!
They're so much nicer than my prof.
I swear he'd be alive today -
He only gave me one more day.
It's not enough, it's really not.
My PC's also in the plot.
But everything's turned out all right.
I've years and years of time to write.
CHORUS
David Randall
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