Burnt (Nothing In the Tank)

I scored an opera, wrote a rock song, penned a lullaby;
A marching tune and then a dirge, because the music had to die.

I made a story, built a world, and wrote some poetry ;
Then I closed the book on those long nights, because the pages turned on me.

Charcoal, pens, a tray of paint, and months of brushing skies--
The easel's broke, the canvas torn; there's scales upon my eyes.

I don't think I have enough to finish writing this;
But