Out of Ideas

I sat and wrote alone.
And threw away each page I inked
With long frustrated sighs
And nothing else to think about;
Still not sure what I'm trying to achieve
A song for you, a lie for me
A painted piece of tainted lines
In time we'll all be fine.

I sat and sang alone.
And gave up before the finishing line
Defeated by the undefined
A rhyme is just a rhyme;
Still not sure who I'm supposed to believe,
The never loved or the never free,
Is it enough to just be me?
I won't make a living like that.

And when it's time for a chorus
I'll run out of ideas. Again.