He came from a place
of ruin and despair.
Where defeat and anguish
were his burdens to bear.

A prisoner of sorrow,
a master of pain.
His own personal hell,
his kingdom to reign.

No joy in his heart
was there to be known,
And on this road to destiny,
he trudged alone.

But there once was a time
when his life had reason and rhyme.
He had purpose and meaning,
there was a reason for being.

Yet all of those things
he let slip through his hands.
By his own selfish destruction,
he is now a wasted man.