Poetic Tragedy

The cup is not half empty as pessimists 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

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

There, there, there

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 yelled

Why

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