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.