I have written enough To pass the twelvth class And many more hours of work I pretty much realize where it's going, Where next time will land the stork Craft of the crafts is giving life To young fellows ho spark and inspire The old ones
Nation so lost It doesn't recognize Its own values There is the wailing wall But even those tears are shed in vain The pain of obscuroty is so reminiscent I can't complain how empty it all Seems to be
Golden cage with a key inside Golden bird waiting to go outside Golden cage Golden cage My soul is trapped in you I am not sure what I gonna do Golden bars aren't doing me any good Rather free myself and fly But I'm stuck in here, I don't know why
Digesting the memory of time Pretending life is whole And still sublime Youth is diying to get defined New century's role is underlined In technological progress And mental degradation of the kind
Betrayed By the society And the close ones Perhaps I am a mischief And perhaps I've done no good in previous life too Perhaps this is the reason I suffer so much in this one. Karma, my friends, is indeed a naughty girl.
Your skull is like a bowl You fill it with your thoughts While you fill the bowl with a white rice The scarcity of good thoughts Meaningless amount Compound like the stones In bags of the same aforementioned rice Why do you think so much? Don't blink! Tap upon a table, Make the noise your best advice.
If not gentleness in her eyes? What is love, If not gentleness in her touch? What is love to her, If not roughness of your mind? If not manliness of your character? What is love at all, If you haven't been hurt before by it? Why is it good at all, If not to be more than one? More than just alone?