• He spends his days on the couch
    A whiskey bottle in his hand
    His stomach a great big pouch
    This is not how his life was planned

    He sits and drinks alone
    The bottle his only friend
    He's drunk down to the bone
    And doesn't plan to end

    People think he's a bum
    No family, no friends, no job
    With clothes covered in crumbs
    He is the epitome of a slob

    They don't know what he's seen
    Or the friends he has lost
    On his past they aren't to keen
    They don't know he's payed the cost

    They don't know how he became a zero
    He's alone with his loss and pain
    For he is a hero
    And no one knows his name