Another room, another bed,
but same old me and same old pen.
Another rise, another set,
but same old thoughts run through my head.

Another night before a day.
Another poem, come what may.
Another choice; I chose to stay,
and sleep upon this bed I lay.

But same old pages, same old book.
The same old mind and same old looks.
The same old fate; this path I took
to seek the future I forsook.

Another verse, another end,
but same old rhymes and same old stems.
Another dream, another kept,
but same old me and same old pen.