When I write for you
It's all for you,
The pages of manuscripts flowing off my desk
All roiling onto the floor into a folded like fashion
Mess, the most beautiful literature mess,
The old papery smell that drifts into other the rooms-- how I love the smell
And how I love to brush ink black onto pure cloud white,
Oh how I love to write,
It's for you that I write
It's all for you.
It's all for you,
The pages of manuscripts flowing off my desk
All roiling onto the floor into a folded like fashion
Mess, the most beautiful literature mess,
The old papery smell that drifts into other the rooms-- how I love the smell
And how I love to brush ink black onto pure cloud white,
Oh how I love to write,
It's for you that I write
It's all for you.
I love it when you write! You have a gift.
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