EDIT: Okay for some reason it's not even showing up on here, no matter what format I put it on. So I'm just gonna put it in the comment section here.

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The morning hour feels so bleak.
Say goodbye to the happy streak.
Some would say I'm down and blue,
But I feel more grey.
Here comes another unhappy day.

I work hard for speeches and smiles,
Going through the motions in different styles.
This is not the way to live a life,
But what can you do
When all they have is you?

I gain experience and skill
Through excess and overkill.
Who works so hard for so little pay?
A fool made that choice
With naive joy in his voice.

How enthusiastic I was at first,
Now I feel my head might burst.
My drive is failing, my body fatigued;
Yet still I slave away,
My soul diminishing each day.

Tired as I am I carry on,
With a late evening and an early dawn.
People often wonder how I can last.
My answer is passion, and love for my art.
Because it's worth it when you work from the heart.

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A feeling that many kinds of artists may have felt at one point in time.