This is the mind all callused and worn Its ethical basis tattered and torn That sits in the house that ego built
This is the heart exposed for your scorn That believes it is right and can do no wrong That governs the mind That lives in the house that ego built
This is the lifeblood of laughter and fun That flows through the flesh that clings to the bones That cages the heart that governs the mind That dreams in the house that ego built
This is the stomach ulcerated with guilt That feeds on the justice of a knife ****** to the hilt Into the innards of turmoil and bile That brings queasy reality into a mind That rots in the house that ego built
This is the skeleton of upright intent Its bones a geometry and rosary of ailments That scaffolds a life of sheer ****** mindedness That never quite does what the mind intends In this ruin of a house that ego built
This is the skin that keeps it all in That brings order and calm to the chaos within Though it wrinkles with age, transparent and worn A castle of walls, a house not a home, that ego built
And these are the eyes unfocused and white Their cataract curtains dimming the light On the ghosts and the memories wandering inside What's left of the house that ego built
Man becomes man, life becomes life A notorious continuance without rest or respite Bricks become clay, clay becomes dust Where now is the house that ego built?
Where is the mind, where has it gone The purpose and promise of which it was born The ego that dreamed of a house to be built?
These thoughts are the dust of all that was willed.