Here I've sat for these grueling weeks
watching the days go by,
recounting when paper jumped to pen,
and graphed its own design

This pen is dead in my hands
This paper is limp on my desk
Every attempt at beauty is failure
I am no architect at best

I'll smile when I've made something so beautiful
the sky cries when it meets her tender lines
I'll smile and I'll smile

The greatest of arches point inward
The tallest towers stand on their own
There is no beauty in independence
There's no romance in being alone

Well here I've sat watching these clouds sail,
shifting like jelly fish fly,
and thinking these cities look so small
under the big sky

This pen is dead in my hands
This paper is limp on my desk
Every attempt at beauty is failure
I am no architect at best