Mottled bricks compose my curtain wall
The twisted cracks run long and deep
Strong it once stood, now I fear its fall
From the gouges my silent cries gently seep
Breaking under the pressing force
My sturdy keep is failing
If I let nature take its course
Will I end up prevailing?
The moss and vines edge in their grip
Trying to take their piece of the glory
For when my blood begins to drip
Who else will tell my story?
These old weathered stones cannot take much more
Before they crumble into the downtrodden dust
If only I could flee to some calm distant shore
Where I will be free of this vicious bloodlust
The ceiling is already falling atop my head
I fear there is no way out of this self-made tomb
Will I find the courage to survive, or am I already dead?
This frightful melody may be spelling my doom