Thunk, clack, There is the sound of brick laid on brick, Their harsh edges meeting as you build a wall. P-R-O-T-E-C-T Y-O-U-R-S-E-L-F, The Gameshow. The audience knows when the lights flash to repeat the words. Their enthusiasm is a bloodlust, And you are just waiting for the blood mist, A knife in your ribs, Pain, Betrayal. So— THUNK, CLACK— You build a wall.