Drowning In Self-Pity

How long have I been lying on the floor?
The needle's stuck in the record's last groove;
I wonder how long it will be before
I will no longer have the will to move...
Lost in my music, my thoughts, and my wine,
Waves of melancholy, pools of regret
Surround and saturate this soul of mine
With ambitions I swore I'd not forget-
With women I've loved, lost, and not yet found;
I've tried to write for the world what I See,
But wine and fear have found me on the ground;
Why should I rise to mediocrity?
Perhaps if love had been inclined to stay,
I'd not be inclined to just waste away.