We are cold, and that is all.
On a Sunday afternoon in April, the sun warms our backs and bakes the stone, but we are still cold.
We are immovable and never-changing.
The rain on a Wednesday night in April waters us, but we do not grow. We do not even shiver.
We have a gaze that does not see.
In the place of a look-out, one might suspect that we are witness to all happens beneath our perches, that our vision is far-reaching and none can escape, but we are not your protectors.
We are old but not wise.
The wear caused by the cyclic passing of the season does not represent lessons learned and battles fought. Cracks in our stones are not equatable to wrinkles on a human face.
We have mouths that do not eat.
We have wings that do not fly.
We have claws that do not rend, that do not tear.
We have faces that do not show emotion, but this is not an indication of a strong constitution.
This is how we were made.
We are naught but edifice, and we do not care about you.