The old man is a player
A master at the game.
He finds no pleasure in it
But he plays it just the same.

Gone is a pleasant future
He’ll have no loving wife.
The game is full of sorrow
The game is now his life.

People on the outside
Think he’s doing well
each day a set of minutes
Each night a living hell

See him there upon his throne?
Where did the good life go?
He thought he’d die a winner
What little did he know.