I know a man who’s building bridges,
bridges built from cobble stone.
Connecting sea and mountain valley,
to the place he calls his home.
A fortress reaching through the distance
to a sun that never settles down.
It appears to never quite be ready
as the tick-tick of his hammer’s sway.
He never stops to ask and wonder
what he’s actually building for.
There is just the tick-tick of his chisel
and the hidden place he calls his home.
