I wouldn't consider myself a fearful man
Not much can shake my bones
But the simple fact that my future is unknown
That alone keeps me up at night
I have one thing I love more than anything
The complex art of literature
Oh, to release the stories I've written
Bring a tear to more eyes than my own
I fear that tomorrow shall bring my fall
Or perhaps in years I'll plummet to failure
Who knows, certainly not me
Only one truth is bolder than them all
I shall never lay my pen down to rest
