Well if you'd shut up for a minute I will tell you, okay? By Jove, I don't understand you manfolk. That any of you unscramble your attention spans for long enough to put pen to page or hand to lute is beyond this old bard's reckoning.

Anyway, you were askin' me where I get my inspiration from. Well it isn't the morning sun, or the softness of moss in the wood by my cabin or whatever other garbage you're thinkin' it is. 

Up far to the east, there's a valley in unclaimed territory near where the Un Desert begins. Smack in the middle of this valley o' grass and sand there's two big rock pillars raisin' up to heaven. None o'the locals know who put the pillars there, or what they're for. But they drop off berries and meat and other small offerings once a month there. They said every time they return with more food the offerings are gone, though no one goes to that sacred place or would dare steal there (especially since most of them freely give away their food to strangers anyway). 

So, that's it. A bloody good mystery rightly beautiful ta' look at and enticing to try and discover its secret. I've only been back two times since I first set foot there. I'm afraid I might sleep there a month and learn the secret, then I wouldn't have a thing to inspire me to write my poems. 

So lad, you go and find yourself some big mystery and then ignore the hell out of it. When you try not to, it will come back and you and haunt your dreams and your music. Then you'll be making art that is true and good. Good stories, just like good people, are rooted in mysteries.