[Verse 1 – steady rhythm] Bricks fall like promises. Steel rises like threats. The concrete dreams of men hardens in silent silhouettes. Glass reflects what’s not allowed. Neon flickers over empty crowds. Each window a screen. Each screen a mirror. Each mirror a trap. [Chorus – more intense, with echo] This is the construction. Not of buildings – but of minds. This is the construction. Of silence wrapped in signs. This is the construction. Of futures sold in lines. [Verse 2 – more fragmented, robotic rhythm] Noise becomes routine. Routine becomes the rule. We build upward, but dig inward – burying the soft beneath the scheduled. Doors without handles. Rooms without names. People programmed to remain. [Chorus – repeated with urgency] This is the construction. Of habits, fences, fear. This is the construction. Of nothing ever near. This is the construction. That builds while we disappear. [Bridge – cold, slow, whispered] There was a time we built with hands. Now we build with distance. Everything fits. But nothing lives. [Final verse – quiet, dry voice] And when the last wall rises, we won’t know who it was for. But we’ll stand in its shadow and call it home. [Outro – whispered] The construction is complete. ...but the purpose remains unknown.
