The orange man stood at the peak, Still loud, still proud, still hard to beat, And raised his fist against the sky To tell the clouds a final lie. The thunder answered with a grin, Not from without, but from within, For towers fall when truth draws near, And pride is built on hidden fear. By dawn the storm had drifted past, The tower stood, though not as vast, And on the highest stone alone Sat just a man upon a throne No crown remained, no endless cheers, Just all the noise of passing years, While ravens circled overhead, And history wrote what pride had said. Some called him fool, some called him king, Some cursed the songs he'd made them sing, But all agreed on one strange thing: The orange man could shake the land, With nothing but his voice and hand, A comic show, a caution too A tower built on one man's view.