Every waking moment he spends,
Thinking... Talking... Worrying,
About his victories, about his loss.
Guilt, hangs around his neck,
Just like an albatross...
'Is it me?' he wonders,
'Is it me causing this mess?
What is it that I'm doing wrong?
Or is it all just, in my head?'
It eats away at his soul,
Every waking moment of day.
Till there's nothing left of him,
Only emptiness where his heart lay...