Let me change the contours of life, polluted mind-set.
Spider webs have elective sites of emotions.
I want to open a new range, to locate the corrupt moments.
Turn over your face, let me find the scars.
The soaring pinnacle, fatherless fame, were declining.
The rot was setting on the fresco of the wall.
Aspiring for god-head they have choked the fluiting.
Hands and eyes are cadaverous, unmoving.
Sun is burning very hot.
Not tomorrow, today we have to bid farewell to neutral day.
Life will not spare the casting.
Too much mist has settled on the eyes,
Raining madness on the road.
Months and years are giving incontinence.
