Name: The Writer
Duration: 5 min 18 s
Channel: Wig Nelson/Wig Nelson
Description: "The Writer" is a song by wiggymusic. This is a song about a writer who doesn't write anymore

The Writer

wiggymusic

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This is a song about a writer who doesn't write anymore

jazz classical folk eclectic wiggymusic

wiggymusic

Wiggymusic is located in Indialantic, Florida.

Wiggymusic is a project which began January 10th, 2006. It's intention is to showcase the music portfolio of Wig Nelson - singer/songwriter for more than thirty years. At present, over 120 of his musical compositions are copyrighted with the Library of Congress in Washington D.C. in five volumes (1979, 1992, 1993, 2006 and 2008) and will eventually be featured here on this website. Some of his most recent work includes a musical called, "A Feeling Of Power." It features 17 songs of Wig's most memorable songs and will be available for sale here at Soundclick in the near future.

Song Info

Genre

Acoustic • Acoustic Rock

Charts

Peak #38

Peak in subgenre #8

Author

Wig Nelson/Wig Nelson

Rights

c.2009 Wig Nelson

Uploaded

June 23, 2009

Track Files

MP3

MP3 4.9 MB • 128 kbps • 5:18

Lyrics

The Writer 
By Wig Nelson c.2009

(First Verse)
It wasn't real china - the teacakes were just make believe
Was just turning six - a number of tricks up my sleeve
It was back when the ghost had a bucket of blood in his veins
Now the echo of life is all of the best that remains

(Chorus)
And now an old typewriter lies . . . on a rickety desk by the door
The windows that spilled forth a life . . . don't whisper the tales anymore

(Second Verse)
She was a dream that I missed as I slept through the night
Sorting through darkness and courting impostors of light
Stretching a gossamer hope of a tangible touch
Knowing that I never learn not to promise too much

(Bridge)
Something is wrong with the writer
A song so long overdue
A turncoat who once was a fighter
And always dead right about you

(Third Verse)
Lashed to the wheelhouse the rope cutting into his wrists
He wished that the storm were a man he could meet with his fists
The water was rising and through the black night it was raining
Just a matter of time by the cries from below it was gaining

(Chorus)
And now the memories lay far too low in the dust on a yellowing page
And the flies on the wall always know they can die of a ripened old age

(Fourth Verse)
The glass giants tumbled and gas lines were jumbled and burning
No one was certain the land was still earthen and turning
It was too late for words as the circling birds were above us
With it all said and done there was only The One left to love us
 
(Chorus)
And now the memories lay far too low in the dust on the yellowing page
And the flies on the wall always know they can die of a ripened old age

And now old typewriter lies on a rickety desk by the door
The windows that spilled forth a life - they don't whisper the tales anymore

And the memories lay far too low in the dust on a yellowing page

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