When you put a pen to paper
You're reaching out
Deep into you're mind
You're reaching out
For that inspiration

That never comes
So you put down your pen onto the paper
Reaching out into your mind
Just waiting
And waiting
For that special inspiration to hit

It doesn't answer
Your desperate call
You pick up the pen
And place it once more
On the paper

Hoping
Just hoping
For that rare and special inspiration to hit
The tiniest of whispers
That are supposed to take hold

To circle in your head
Like a toy train
On its little train tracks
And on its even tinier wheels
But the train of thought never comes

You put down the pen
In frustration
When a whisper of a whisper
Steals into your mind
Like a thief

It grows and grows like wildfire
Burning everything in its path
To make its way to the front
Of your mind
That special inspiration

That you waited and waited for
Has arrived
When it reached its destination
You just want to jump out of your chair
And yell "Eureka!"

So once more you that pen to paper
But ink doesn't come out
That rare and special inspiration pours out instead
The paper and the pen are the same
Only you have changed

Because you're filled up
With that ever so cherished
Rare and special
Inspiration
The kind that has you yelling "Eureka!"