Can't Write A Thing

I sit pretending it’s 1 AM
Or feeling the time’s same urgency,
It appears I’m stuck in a rut,
That Steve’s choked on a nut—
This is an emergency.

With Harold Hill’s same pseudo-mania,
When he dances around some school,
I think and I stare—
At the screen I glare,
‘Cause this block is so uncool.

Half-finished homework lays undone,
And Colbert’s interviewing,
But I can’t seem to write a thing,
My brain food’s finished brewing.

All that white’s gotta go,
And Steve knows, oh he does know
But work he refuses to show
At not-so 1 AM.