It's the selfish mind that writes my words
The selfish hand that plays
The selfish heart that cares for art
But not about the praise
I write for me and others who
Might find a common thread
But foremost is the thought that
Inspiration gets well-fed
I play because it's magical
To watch the sunrise bloom
With music, knowing I'm part of
The light that fills the room
I know that tastes can differ
And some will call me out
But I like the fruit that's bitter
It's nice to have no doubts
The selfish hand that serves me well
Lets the arts run nicely
If you disapprove, that's fine for you
But my freedom's in that way, pricely
