I'm having a bit of a nightmare,
Before I even sleep tonight.
I'm plagued by many torments,
All trying to stop me write.
It's death by a thousand cuts,
By many constant interruptions.
The telephone, that noisy car,
And countless other disruptions.
I should dwell in a cave,
To find some perfect peace.
There to write in solitude,
Where every noise does cease.
But the way my luck is going,
I simply haven't got a prayer.
I know as soon as I arrive,
A brass band awaits me there.