We live, childlike, adjusted to the dark.

What we see does not challenge us, so we,

completely naive and blissful in it,

dare not to try and challenge the darkness.

Thus we continuously meander,

stumbling with our hands along the wall,

to make our way to the end of the road.

We feel the cracks and gaps beneath our feet.

Our hands run along the tattered remains.

Our blindness is a constant affliction.

My blindness is a constant affliction.

Our hallways and roads, narrow and cold,

cannot completely cross into another.

Only can our fingertips briefly touch

as they run along the bars of another.

Fire and water are mere memories,

a thought within a mind of the darkness.

No cannon fire, nor a wrecking ball,

can ever break the brick above our heads,

and the damp walls we run our hands across

to have our eyes sear with beautiful pain

as the sunlight erupts into our souls

and our eyes strain to adjust to the truth.

All that can cause your bricks to tumble down

is to realize that you create it,

and you can burn with all in the sunlight

as the veil of right and wrong, pain and joy,

rage and sadness, anxiety and peace,

and all your closed mind had once thought you learned

crashes and burns brightly all around you,

and you walk out of you and into life.