Feeling the pulsating heart to death
Isn’t the way I chose to take the last of my breath
The zeal and liveliness of young blood is lost in the journey
But I wonder what possibly could have turned me
Into this soulless piece of work
And I fear, someday this question might turn me berserk
The feeling of anxiety intertwined with expectations
Infused into a life yet to do so many explorations
I look sometimes up the sky
And think of the fake persona that I dye
Life saturates and and splits into so many narrow rows
When did it all start? When will it all end? Who knows
This ravaging urge within my heart
Burning with smouldering passion inside a humble cart
This humble cart is struggling with time
Getting pummelled as if it’s not even worth a dime
But the thing is when this humble cart breaks
That will be the end of me and my fakes