It is breezy and cold, but under the sweltering heat they take the oath
To wash away all my sorrows and sins, take nothing with me but prayers of my kins,
Sitting under the banyan tree, the Guru sets your soul free
Under the warped shadows of the branches, you look for twisted faces,
If fate would come carved on your palm, why would humans take to causing harm?
It doesn’t sound as bad as profanity from the pastor’s mouth – I wish someone calls it a day before it causes any rout,
Look through the glass of water you see some funny shapes, some look like angels and some leave a bad taste,
Trying to preserve that, which was never yours, why, just why breaking the locks on the open doors?
Dead skin taking form of nails, waking up to those not so sweet fairy tales
Breaking into sweat every now and then, the craftsman is not the creator but a bane,
Parasites don’t hurt, they promote life, and how can it be bad, if one makes several thrive
No matter how funny as this may sound, none of us should leave this town.
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