Kid can’t write anymore.
He’s got nothing new.
He hasn’t been able to put an idea together
in weeks
months
millennia.

Chump’s in a slump
got him down in the dumps.
He’s thinking outta his rump
and that’s… mumps?
Kid can’t write!

It’s getting bad
so bad he’s looking for inspiration
at the bottom of bottles
barrels
bustiers and bathrooms.
He’s finding nothing,
nada, no joy.
Boy oh boy,
he’s got nothing left.

He’s scraping.
He’s reaching.
He’s pleading with demons and gods
to provide him with something
so he can make it right.
Right now, though?
Kid can’t write.