'tis midway through my confinment at Castle Debacle, and already I can smell the tea brewing! Rumors grow of the ship bringing us odd writing instruments and parchment on which to compose, and I can no longer ignore such talk.
Prudence, I know thou shalt think me daft and bereft of my senses, but I assure you 'tis true. As I began to drift into that blissful state of sleep, 'round about the midnight hour, in the distance I could hear the most lyrical singing. The voices of far-distant sailors wafted to me upon the night's clear air, and I can only assume these same voices were onboard that rumored ship, the SS Penman.
But lo, Prudence, the fog has been so thick of late! I fear a shipwreck.
Pray with me, dearest Prudence. Pray for the safety of these sailors, and their most precious of cargo.
And let us sing their shanty, for I have written down the words I heard upon the night, with the hopes that putting them to paper will solidify their reality, and release me from their haunting grasp.
Sing with me, dearest Prudence!
SING!
What do you do with a drunken writer,
What do you do with a drunken writer,
What do you do with a drunken writer,
Earl-y in the morning
Way hay the word count rises
Way hay the word count rises
Way hay the word count rises
Earl-y in the morning
Cut his pages with a rusty razor,
Cut his pages with a rusty razor,
Cut his pages with a rusty razor,
Earl-y in the morning
Way hay the word count rises
Way hay the word count rises
Way hay the word count rises
Earl-y in the morning
Put him in the hold with a Pen and Paper,
Put him in the hold with a Pen and Paper,
Put him in the hold with a Pen and Paper,
Earl-y in the morning
Way hay the word count rises
Way hay the word count rises
Way hay the word count rises
Earl-y in the morning
What do you do with a drunken writer,
What do you do with a drunken writer,
What do you do with a drunken writer,
Earl-y in the morning
Tell him he’s a slush pile in the makin’,
Tell him he’s a slush pile in the makin’,
Tell him he’s a slush pile in the makin’,
Earl-y in the morning
Way hay the word count rises
Way hay the word count rises
Way hay the word count rises
Earl-y in the morning
Make him edit pages ’til he’s sober,
Make him edit pages ’til he’s sober,
Make him edit pages ’til he’s sober,
Earl-y in the morning
Way hay the word count rises
Way hay the word count rises
Way hay the word count rises
Earl-y in the morning
What do you do with a drunken writer,
What do you do with a drunken writer,
What do you do with a drunken writer,
Earl-y in the morning
Way hay the word count rises
Way hay the word count rises
Way hay the word count rises
Earl-y in the morning
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9 comments:
You're obviously not writing enough.
I'm wallowing, currently.
I'd like to know what prescription you're on and how I can get my own. :D
It's not a prescription. Hence the singing.
Me, on the other hand, have spent the early evening hours helping to gnome people.
Well, there's no place like gnome.
Getting to gnome you,
Getting to gnome about you.
Getting to bite you,
Getting to hope you bite me.
Getting to gnome you,
Putting it my way,
Not nicely,
You be conceding,
Mail my tea.
l would suggest you´re losing your marbles but l´m honestly not sure you had any in the first place.
Silly Cath, marbles are for sane people!!
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