I have an itch to write and write
Though what to write is seldom clear.
To write without a thing to say
Is writing like an engineer
Who has been told to busy be,
And so keeps coding spaghetti.
I have an itch to eat and eat
Though what to eat is seldom clear.
To eat without an appetite
Is eating like a volunteer
Who has been told the night’s his shift,
And so keeps snacking not to drift.
I have an itch to sleep and sleep,
Though when to sleep is seldom clear.
To sleep without a worldly care
Is sleeping like a mountaineer
Who has been told his team is dead,
And so he sleeps on snowy bed.