What is this thing I have built with hands?
Lifting sand instead of mortar
That sifts through my fingers
Rubble
Distant memories
Dry and unrefreshing  

What is this thing I have built with mind?
Heretic thought between my temples
That strays along neurotic paths
Drunkards
Stumbling memories
Distressed and unravelling

What is this thing I have built with soul?
A heavy heart on thin ice
That splits the seams of hope
Graceless
Fading memories
Crumbling and sinking