I was there
Just over the hill
Wondering what had become
Of the man with the phantom quill
He used to be me
But then he was not
Adrift in a mire
He became forgot
But those words how they bubbled
Under the seven days a week
Until they burst forth
No longer so meek
They don't care if they meander
Or if they don't get you just there
The words must come out
They've rekindled a love affair
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