The silence of a late night songwriter

A chord sequence, lodged in my mind. Words scattered across envelopes, A4 sheets, brown paper bags and in the pages of a Moleskine or two... 

It will come, it will save me... it must come, otherwise.

"From the grip of despair, to a state of grace, freewheeling from Meads to South Street... from Terminus Road to Cavendish Place... I'm running away from my mind"