The Deep Thinker in Perpetual Sadness and Death

There is a man,
He thinks a lot.
Of people and this world
And what not.

Whether this is that,
Or that, this.
Whether he said it just like that,
Or whether he actually meant it.

He spends his nights,
Thinking about what troubles this world.
His thoughts although wise,
Are also grim enough.

He is one wise man,
Capable of seeing what others can't.
The true meaning behind things,
Understanding world and all it's workings.

Siting by the candle light,
Rubbing his brow.
Asking philosophical questions,
Why and how?

But the more he thinks,
And he thinks a lot.
He comes to know,
That the world is not so great after all.

His head grows heavy,
His heart, sour.
Long appear to him,
The day's hours.

He can't stop thinking,
He's addicted to it.
His thoughts have lost,
All of their previous humor and wit.

He searches, always he searches!
For hidden messages,
Trying to soothe his heart,
Oh so suspicious!

His thoughts suck the joy,
To his mind everything's grey.
Each day is more depressing than the previous,
To happiness, he's become impervious.

He's sad. Oh so sad!
What did ever go bad?
He was just a Deep Thinker.
What did he ever do to be so melancholy?

Finally the thoughts win,
He has nought the will to live.
The bullet in his gun in better in his head.
Shoot! And he's dead.