The writer sits at his little desk
Scribbling and writing like crazy.
Mountains of paper litter the floor
And his wife shouts, "Clean up, Lazy!"

But the writer is in his story world,
Where the brave, good hero rides
Over fields over hills to a secret cave
Where he knows the Bad Guy hides.

The sun has set; his tea's become cold
And the good wife's getting quite mad,
But the writer is still far away
In his fight of good against bad.

The wife is in bed and asleep by now,
The clock in the hall strikes ten.
The writer is yawning, but he must not stop
Or he'll forget everything!

All of a sudden the hero appears
Cloaked in a bright ruby red.
I've had quite enough of this fighting," he says,
"So please go off to bed!"