Fault of Heart Inside That Beats…

Why do I always write of stars and night?

Of heroes and their great attained heights?

Can’t I see the ugly life on the streets?

Well I guess it’s the fault of heart inside that beats…

 

How do I always end up in differences?

Or often straying far away from references?

Can I not refrain from being so discreet?

Well I guess it’s the fault of heart inside that beats…

 

O.K., I admit I too see the world as in reality,

and those faces grim and eyes wet suffering from casualties,

but then how long are we gonna keep playing the role of those culprits?

Well I guess it’s the fault of heart inside that beats…

 

Also do I see the ever-growing hate,

puzzling me often about the alarming fate,

but still all I dream is of oasis in this burning heat,

Well I guess it’s the fault of heart inside that beats…

 

Is it right or wrong; I can’t ever call,

but then who decides the codes unless you actually rise or fall?

So I keep writing my dreams till we actually meet,

Well I guess it’s the fault of heart inside that beats…

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