This is how the world likes to sing an illusion,
And shake a merry leg,
And smoke out the cloud of agony,
Build a castle and wed a bed.
The cynic can try switching too,
Oh, don't be surprised lark,
The night is long and the stars ain't weary,
The dogs are not in a mood to bark.
There, I had my spring time on the hills,
I came down to the plains and lost the guy,
The breeze unfurled the seeker in me,
And I learnt never to say 'die'!
Pop, goes the umbrella to shelter
Against the rain,
And when you fear getting drenched,
You are miles away from that beautiful pain.
This is how the world likes to adorn the illusion,
With stars plucked from the ground,
And brushing back the weary curls
To silvery grass cheerfully grown.