The Lone Ranger

Now I'd like to think I have something to say
But I'm closing my eyes,
I'm shutting the door.
Getting tired of just living day after day
Too little, too late,
There's no love anymore.

So I sit here scratching, getting into a stew
And I'm tapping my fingers,
I'm longing for danger.
But boredom is all when there's nothing to do
Here and now, as before
I remain the Lone Ranger.

And yet once in a while, the words come alive
It's then I get nervous
Or, dare I say it, excited?
That somehow, despite all, I may just survive,
Join a small club of poets
To which I was not invited.