A bad situation,
The darkest cloud.
a fantastic creation,
Covered in a shroud.
A man no more,
a beautiful ghost,
to the aforementioned
we raised a toast.

The more I marched,
the more I carried,
my soul parched,
I wept as we buried.

Chances gone, chances wasted,
the chances I scorned,
and the lies that precede,
I beg the forgiveness of those I mislead.

Further I fall,
my traits disappear.
"I am not me!",
shouts my soul from the rear.
Happiness eludes me,
failure is certain.
I retire, I retry.
Yet, I lose again.

Still, here I stand,
A man just the same.
*The darkness is winning,
But I shall rise again.