Look at what we’ve built, What does it mean? And will it stand? Does it ever matter? These are such small things,
It’s the start of our crumbling homes, I accept that letting go and growing older are the same. And we are less than this, A truth we can’t avoid, What we’ve made can’t last In its shadow, in this place. Its angry twisted apathy has found its home, Inside of ours.
And we are less than this. And we know, We are weaker than stone.
We’ve built this to prove, That we are We are less than this towering truth we can’t avoid, The start of crumbling stones.
We accept their weight, And build something new. We accept their weight, And build someplace new.