I crave for even the faintest touch of inspiration. Its rivers have seemingly dried up. The past weeks have silently gone by like nameless citizens in a waiting line. Scattered grey clouds have altered my strategic game plan. I must dig deep. An amalgam of taunting voices wittingly took the limelight away from the notes that should be treasured. I have [bad word] wrapped in discouragement for far too long. Words and actions have somehow lost some of their sweetness. I need to regain my thirst for optimism. Deaf will be these ears to you serenades. Blind will be these eyes to your charades. Cold will be the front that [bad word] you. Scattered grey clouds have weakened my strategic game plan.