Day by day,
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Night after night.
Ideas drive around my head,
like a Nascar race
inside my skull.
Maybe that is why,
I'm always smelling burning rubber.
These ideas as they race,
eventually crash into the wall.
each one desperate to get onto a page,
no wonder I got a pounding headache.
if the pen is mighter then the sword then the word processer must be mighter then the missile