Died a drunken loser,
That's what the papers said.
It was all they needed for,
The vacuum in their heads.

Never mind his torment,
Leave go his private pain,
Years of wretched discontent,
The dis-enabling strain.

So easy to ignore,
The strength with which he'd pull,
To live his life a plain way,
To rise above the dull.

Angered by injustice,
Too sensitive to wrong,
Eternally frustrated,
By hubris of the strong.

Just walk on all you blind ones,
Believe just what they say.
Really doesn't matter now,
He's dead and in the grave.

(c) Copyright 2011, Greg Sanders