He does it so well
He takes the words
Same words I have on my keyboard
Words that could mean anything
Words that might be obscene
If I wrote them on a wall
But from his keyboard they jump
Creating pictures of life
Pictures of life that I would never see
If it wasn’t for the keyboard
Of that man called dempsey
He says its just words, they are already there
He only has to pluck them from his head
And put them on the page
But my head doesn’t have those words
Maybe because I haven’t lived his life
But I’m much more afraid
Its because I don’t have his talent
So instead I come here regularly
To read the words
Of the man called dempsey