writer's block                   I paint a thousand pictures here                  on the inside of my skull                  Sometimes I'll crack it open                  though my instruments are dull                  I focus in, then out of view                  when the blows land on my chin                  A wild river's seeping slowly                  through the cracks in my skin                  I've got a hunger for sweet admiration                  but can't exchange it for my occupation                  as the                  fallen cleric                  chief of sinners                  poor of spirit                  Take all the mud and glory in                  the blood that swells my hand                  shake it out with delirium tremors                  and guide my palsy pen                  Who's impressed enough to follow me?                  Please consider now the source                  Count my golden vanities                  in the fire of remorse                  I've made an art of clever demonstrations                  but can't exchange it for my occupation                  as the                  fallen cleric                  chief of sinners                  poor of spirit                  I paint a thousand pictures here                  on the inside of my skull                  Come on, crack it open, kill me!                  Burn the bridges, break the walls!                  I've got a hunger for sweet validation                  but can't exchange it for my old vocation                  as the                  fallen cleric                  chief of sinners                  poor of spirit                  Words and music by Terry Scott Taylor                  ©1998 Twitchen Vibes (BMI) Click here to go back to the main page.