The Tired Soul in the Back

I am the tired soul in the back
Unfit for anyone
Unfit to talk to anyone
living in the wake of a horrid tale

They forced me through the proper channels,
and there was no pay at the end;
only sickly sickly tripe

And the woe in my waking hours,
and all the pain that sips upon me, 

make me a worthless knave,
but goddammit
I'm alive.