Glass people are made in a

Factory faraway

They come out perfect,

Each and every one

Born beneath the Sun

And from the moment they are made

With the factories aide,

Their hollow insides begin to fill.

The glass people are filling,

Although sometimes unwilling,

With what makes them alive

And wiggle and Jive

And they begin to dance and shout

Singing as they run about

Soon they forget they are made of glass,

Just a fragile piece of delicate mass

And they fill and they fill

Filling until

They realize that they cannot hold it all

Once removed this innocent caul,

They begin to despair

And they realize that nobody is there

Nobody to care

And they remember that they

Are only glass

And they continue to fill until

They crack

And spill.