When I write a poem about Nothing, there's not much I can say
In fact when I think of it, there's Nothing to this day
Some days it's good to have Nothing, there's not a thing to do
Relaxing and peaceful, sitting back in the recliner too

I try not to think of anything, while Nothing's on my mind
Yet something always pops up, at least I am not blind
I let my mind drift, to a place that is nowhere
Where Nothing can be found, because Nobody is there

A great visit it was, to be nowhere at all
When the phone rings, and it's nobody who made the call
We talk about Nothing, and as the time passes quick
I hear the clock upon the wall, going tick tick tick

There's Nothing more that I can say, if only you believe
When your mind is blank, there is Nothing you receive
Since it is Nothing, and there can be Nothing more
Why should I continue, when it's Nothing I'm writing for

I usually write about something, so it's a nice change to
write about Nothing. There's really Nothing to it. I just
keep on writing about Nothing, and Nothing comes easily
to me.

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