To the man who writes the music in my head,nDid you retire? Were you fired?nDid you skip out on your rent?nDid you go crazy? Just get lazy?nDid you meet the perfect lady?nCan you tell me where you went?nnFurthermore, I’d like to ask for your advice,nI know a girl who still believes that she’snIn love with “Mr. Right”nHe’s unfaithful, its disgraceful,nAnd she always lets it slidenNow she don’t even put up a fight.nnAnd I was hoping you could tell me what it means,nTo be alive when you survive what happenednDown in New Orleans I’ve seen the news, and im confusednCause its grey where once was greennBad news don’t seem that “new” to me.nnTo the man who writes the music in my headnAre you tired, uninspired?nDid you lose your favorite pen?nDid you overuse your muse,nCan you steal one from a friend?nIt’s time we started singin again…