Poetic Tragedy - The Used

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 no where
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, there, there, there

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 like
I feel

Then on that last day he breaks
and he stood tall
then he yelled, then he yelled
(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

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There are moments when one feels free from one's own identification with human limitations and inadequacies. At such moments one imagines that one stands on some spot of a small planet, gazing in amazement at the cold yet profoundly moving beauty of the eternal, the unfathomable; life and death flow into one, and there is neither evolution nor destiny; only Being. - Albert Einstein