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 and 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 world, why world, hate you, hate you, bye world

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