Like some crops in fields which missed the harvest,
Like a diamond ring which slid down d drain,
Like a handwritten note washed in d rain
Like a timeless melody never recorded,
My Life is a prose which was never narrated.
I stand at this bridge with a pick and guitar,
Waiting for the moon and the evening stars,
Promising a song at the dawn of night.
To the ripples which goes along the riverside.
And for sure every day the sun sets down,
Makes me hunt for a fresh new reason,
To betray the ripples and myself.
And justify the silence and the treason.
Its so easy to make a note,
To decorate it with some radiant words,
Except when u have to speak the truth,
No fancy, no flight, but ur own good life
U have not an audience but a life to loose,
Still I manage to find a smile,
And paste it over a restless face.
God u know this is all so tough
Hold those drops forever still
Before they wash the smile away.