Building and the lost of ourselves

We do our best, don’t we?
We build so muc,h hoping to get some money, every day struggling for a piece of paper, dirty and smelly.

We build so much, we’re crushing our head in the reach of a living.
All this walls are falling down and no money is left, ’cause we’ve already known from the beginning that it was not coming around.

It’s other business we’re working for, and those faces are only getting bigger and older and smarter. I can’t explain the whole world that all this working is useless in the end: there are people better than I am.

So I keep on building and crossing fingers, all this wall hiding the Sun.
And no one is left to build my heart.

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