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.