Poetic Tragedy

The cup is not half empty as pescimists say

As far as he sees nothing's left in the cup

A whole cup full of nothing for him to indulge

Since the voice of ambition has long since been shut up

A singer, a writer, he's not dreaming now of going nowhere

He gave heed to nothing, and all that he was

Is just a tragedy

So he voyages in circles

Succeeds getting nowhere

And submits to the substance

That first got him there

Then in violent, frustration he cries out to God or just no one

Is there a point to this madness and all that he was

Is just a tragedy

He feels alone

His heart in his hand

He's alone

He feels alone

I feel

Then on that last day he breaks

And he stood tall

And he yelled, and he takes his life

(Why world, why world, hate you, hate you, bye world)

Violent frustration

He cries out to God or just no one

Is there a point to this madness

And all that he was is just a tragedy