I am loves martyr. Never managed to become a father. Even when I am trying harder, I fall to my knees. I am sins plaything; Always dreaming. Never acting on my needs; Cruising along on instinct. Look where that has got me; Right where it hurts. Waited a lifetime and I am still waiting for her; But she does not exist, so neither do I. I never did raise a child. Just endless advice. I never talk, enough has been said. I could not be like them, for they are so nice, And they have family and they have friends, Whilst I am destined to die alone. This is why I do not get out of bed.