Something round - something metallic sat on the shelf - with a story to tell metal vase - filled with something grey I remember - back when the vase could say but it's voice - was once rather kind it's voice does slip - from the depths of my mind.
On the vase - it's etched with three leaves if leaves mean life - this is quite ironic yes it's true - its story is sad under it's lid - it weeps in its regret once was glad - now feels empty it was selfish - to act before he thought.
Yes it's true - it's a grey story i sometimes cry - at something not present he left us - in a selfish way indeed it's true - the vase is a coffin for a man - i call my brother all i can do - is try to forgive him.