Why is it, I am falling from mountains,
and why is it, I am laughing on pain.
What is this, sort of, craving for estacy,
How come it, neither break nor it bends.
How can I, keep on playing realities,
and why does I have no foe or no friend.
Something is, kind of, constantly calling me,
making me neither fool or no saint.
Hundreds of questions, lulling so deep within,
what will I do, if I face them again.
and why is it, I am laughing on pain.
What is this, sort of, craving for estacy,
How come it, neither break nor it bends.
How can I, keep on playing realities,
and why does I have no foe or no friend.
Something is, kind of, constantly calling me,
making me neither fool or no saint.
Hundreds of questions, lulling so deep within,
what will I do, if I face them again.
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