Brittle bricks crumble underneath your fingertips,
The pain you miss disappears from the sanctum that you think this is.
You're confusing your grandeur with the beliefs of your pastor
and your lackluster opinions will cost you in the long run.
So you'd better run faster.

I'm an eroding man, made from brittle bricks
with dreams of fixing the worn-down walls of his internal premises.
I'm running on a silver lining who's high-hoped speed is fast declining.
So should I stop smiling?