Just beyond the passing trains
Stands the skeletal remains
Of a lady loved and once adored.
How everyone was simply floored
By her architectural dominance.
The roaring twenties called their names,
And blood and sweat of men explains
Why they stood in awe of every board
Struck dumb there by a demon horde,
Tiny in her unrelenting prominence
Her grim beauty cracks and wanes,
But within the wreckage someone gains
Some solace where a box is stored
Upon which they lay their drunken gourd
To rest with seeming self confidence.