Clay cut and lifted from the banks of earth,
Baked to hard bricks laid down in foundations
Layer by layer, as we build up our worth
By subduing landscapes in our presumptions
With a sense of permanence, mastery
Ordained upon us, visions of a space
In which nature is a garden, beauty
Treasured, so long as it's walled into its place.

Yet the long, slow waves of time break them down,
Tower by tower, wall by stubborn wall;
Buttresses, gables, roofs brought to the ground,
Cracked, crumbled, worn, broken in their fall.

All of our bodies pressed back into oil,
The clay baked bricks returning to the soil.