In a grove, alittle ways away,
There once stood a tall glass tower that reflected the day,

It was built by a man named Soul,
And to build this was his altamet goal.

He started it in late March,
Thats when he had finished designing the last arch.

He started to make his glass tower,
And on the first stories he planted a flower.

As the days went on, the tower began to grow taller and taller,
He worked all day and it didnt even cost him a dollar.

But as the days went on and the taller the tower got,
Slowly the beams began to rot.

He didnt take notice as the sky turned grey,
Then that storm came in late May.

The beams gave out and the tower began to fall,
He fell down in a shower of glass, he hit the ground and began to crawl.

But he was stabbed with bits of glass, and eveything he knew had been stripped away,
He didnt wake up, and the sky remained grey.

The accident was soon cleaned up,
By people who had won the cup.

The grove has been cleared, and all the debris has been taken away,
And the grey clouds are at bay.

Nothing remains there except dead leaves and little bits of glass,
A tiny flower is growing where it all once stood. Growing besides new sprouts of grass.

Alot of years will pass,
And not all things are meant to last.