I was born with a song on the tip of my tongue
I grew up and began chasing love
Well, I tried my hand at the grip of the pen
But I searched for more and more attention
Some sort of recognition
Well, I've got the curse of the nonfiction shelf
I just can't seem to help my self
I can't lie, you'd see right through my disguise
So, why would I even try
I am a wooden boy
Well, time ticked on I was drawn by the sound of the chord
Chased it as long and as far as I could afford
Well, I've had my share of failed interests
But this one seems to be permanent
Something that could never be worn
Well, I've got the curse of the nonfiction shelf
I just can't seem to help my self
I can't lie, you'd see right through my disguise
So, why would I even try
I am a wooden boy
Well, I've got the curse of the nonfiction shelf
I just can't seem to help my self
I can't, lie you'd see right through my disguise
So, why would i even try
I am a wooden
I am
Well, I've got the curse of the nonfiction shelf
I just can't seem to help my self
I can't lie you'd see right through my disguise
So, why would i even try?
I am a wooden boy
I will die with a song on the tip of my tongue
And leave behind a melody to be sung
Well, until then I'll just keep writing
Until the ink dries up and out of this pen
Then I lose all recollection