This is India
This is you, this is me
We the common people
We are dying, it's exactly what you see
And if this doesn't your blood boil
Your blood is cold
If you look around and see nothing
Your blindness is old
When the jostling
jobless,
homeless,
hungry
mean nothing
When you don't see what's right there
When you get used to shameless nakedness
It's death's cold heartless stare
The death of our conscience
We can be forgiven as fools
We are victims of our own characters
We die of our own tools
We are the victims of our dreams
Now nightmares
The poison in the society
Are its vanishing fears
We are now ruled by a few
Our life in their hand
What you thought was your part
What you loved as your own land
There are no reigns or brakes
There is no fair hearing
All opposites are ridiculed
By the lack of the very thing
The emperor has no clothes
He and his fond few
India is being murdered
And it is a part of you
