For whom the brick soars

Window are out. Old fashioned and in need of renovation. We couldn't say we've been the greatest to them, what with all the crashing and fractals we lay into them, but we do our best to make them pretty.

Amalgam of roughness, rectangular wrath pent up and arrested. Why couldn't we be stuck in some foundation, lifting up the glass, the people instead of being a convenient source for violence. What an awful rep we have. We tough it out covered in goop, from scarlet to pink, unbothered on the outside and keeping it all locked up. I wonder sometimes if that hot stereotype was to ward others, our diligence and firmness mistaken for aggression. We watch you everyday wanting to hold you between us. Billions of us. Molded, plastered, and frozen in time. Would it kill ya to say: "Hey"