The cup is not half empty as pescimists say,
as far as hes sees nothings left in the cup.
A whole cup full of nothing for him to induldge,
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.

Than 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