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