There’s a chip on my shoulder the size of Sisyphus’ boulder,
I’m struggling with him as we roll it up, only for it to fall back down.
He was a cunning knave according to Google, I’m a nervous cunt.
His torment lasted an eternity, I’m lucky I guess.
Luck is something I usually lack, this life of mine is lacklustre and I’m running out of courage,
to carry on,