Psycho2 mins 178 2 mins 178
Roaming in the corridor of dark shade,
they didn't realize that how that eighth wonder was made.
Leaving the corners filled with joyous light,
they kept on judging the morning before a fearful night.
I still remember that face with a fake smile,
I still remember that heart with a broken tile,
I still remember those eyes that were said to be dry,
Who knows!! who knows how he was made to cry?
He kept on waiting for the rainbow without the rain,
he kept on waiting for everything to heal without the pain,
he kept on waiting for the light without the moon,
he was expecting a butterfly without a cocoon.
He every night touched dreams without sleep,
he didn't expect still waters to run deep.
But he wanted to change, wanted to transform,
he wanted to be the hurricane in the furious storm.
He made a castle with a queen in mind,
he made a king brave and kind,
and similarly slaves and foes,
everything stood on tiny toes.
Sometimes he lived to the fullest sometimes cried a lot,
sometimes foolish, sometimes bravely he fought.
But sometimes he left himself alone,
made everyone smile but then he was called a joker, a clown!!
But little did they know about him,
little did they know of great ideas and his life so dim.
They just kept roaming in corridors of dark shade,
and then only this boy, this eighth wonder was made!