Cracking bricks upon auburn bricks

Delicately placed by pious hearts

Fearing the rising sun of each day

Closer to the arrival of their king.

They stop by the tower 

Each body placing their hands,

Caressing the dirt they once knew

Now shaped into final blocks 

To form weeping humans in the night. 

The steeple loved that building,

Her golden, Christian bells

Singing to the walls, morning 'til night.

The tower atop the cathedral

Becomes the symbol of the age.

A flurry of a time crowned with

Unjust romance, decadence, laughter,

All that the reverent men cannot see. 

The place of worship dripping

With the brothel eyes

Of the renaissance

Dotted with falling temples 

In that city, the tower stands alone.