Sore Loser

With tears staining your cheeks, you look so small.
You’re the king of nothing; I hope you fall.
You should cut your losses and walk away,
but I don’t think you hear a word I say.

Your mouth keeps flapping, but your words are weak.
You’re chasing glory that’s out of reach.
I laugh as you falter, crumble, and stall;
I really think you should find some other call.

All the games you play, all the lies you told;
every time, you just grow cold.
Pointing fingers, but it’s on you;
you’ve lost the war, so boohoo, boo.

You’re a sore loser, whining all night.
Yelling at some shadows, giving me delight.
You’re a sore loser, screaming up at the sky.
Your ego’s broken, oh my my my.