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