My fingers float, 

page after page.

Waves crash against the boat,

they've gotten harder with age.

But still I sing.

When I'm lost without a map,

and the world around me 

closes in and gives me a "love tap"

that no one else an see.

But still I sing.

For that's all there is,

constant stuggle and strain,

I find myself in a tiz,

and I melt in the rain.

But still I sing.

For what is living

if one doesnt't have a song?