I know you do your fair share of writing – to take a lesson from the “writing” community, the difference between writing as love, and writing as published, is one of “killing your babies” (and all of the creative moms gasp).
The Muse is favorable to creative types with passion, but when her creative high has passed, the writer’s hands, bravely holding that ominous red pen, must finish what her whimsy has begun.
Maybe it’s less a matter of killing babies, and more one of pruning a well-tended garden. Beautiful lyrics are often surrounded by the common weeds of trite phrases, and it’s your responsibility to pull those damnable vermin out from your songs.
This is the beauty of colloboration: a helpful and trusted friend can point our your shite (I mean trite), and gently point you to your work gloves, all the while being careful not to overlook the rose implanted in the center.
Having been privy to your work, I can attest to many fine flowers in your poetic garden; and though there are weeds, I would gently remind you that your work gloves await; and if the sun should shine too harshly upon your brow, and the dirt should build too thickly underneath your nails, remember that you have never labored alone a single day in all your life, and a finer Gardener than yourself labors at your side.