This is definitely a song for writers. While you are out enjoying a wholesome life of bike rides, sunshine and ice cream, the Writer is cramped in a little yellow room, trying to finish his masterpiece. Or maybe he's just working on an article, a poem or some ramblings about the day. The writer is alone, needing the peace of solitude to concentrate attention. And writing is pain. Self-inflicted personal torture. Usually for no visible reward. The reward for good writing is a satisfaction far beyond typical rewards. The feeling of completion, when the pieces fall together, is akin to joining with an infinite universe in a crazy cosmic meditation. Like the missing link has been found and connected. That blissful glowing light comes on, and you have added to the culture of mankind. Perhaps you've written something that will change lives long after you have left the planet. You have planted your flag on forever. Sacrificed , but for good reason.
While you fantasize
or get caught up in a lie
while you're tying knots
or connecting up the dots
while you're fast asleep
and when you're on the street
As your buying food
And when you're in the mood
I'll be here
in my little yellow room
writing songs and stories about you
mailing them away to Washington
when I die
the memory lives on
while you're reading books
or worried about your looks
memorized by clouds or drunk and talking loud
when you're too afraid
to keep the date you made
or walk across the lawn
to see your neighbor John
I'll be here
in my little yellow room
writing songs
and stories about you
mailing them
away to Washington
when I die
the memory lives on
I'll be here in my little yellow room writing songs and stories about you mailing them away to Washington so when I die the memory lives on
Listen carefully
and you will hear the sea
chuckling at me
about priorities
No one can disturb
The perfect growing herb
Its climbing up the wall
And stretching
Down the hall
It's pushing me to be
A piece of history
Give yourself
To something larger
And you will fall
Much farther faster
If I rest
I'll never get there
Time is running out
Fuel is burning out
The song is so close now
It's knocking on the door
I'll be here
in my little yellow room writing songs and stories about you
mailing them away to Washington
when I die
when I die
when I die the memory lives on
I'll be here
in my little yellow room writing songs and stories about you mailing them away to Washington
so when I die
when I die
when I die
the memory lives on
...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pi-xoAEDs2Q