I know my time is come,
It's a crime not to be dishonest.
It's important to be muddled and a middle,
A crime to stand out or be in any way best.
It's strange how much can be achieved,
By pretending to know.
India today if you aspire to be anyone,
Aspire to be a pimp or a hoe.
Just some arbitrary arbitrage is all,
That's really the career choice for most.
Cheating and deceit, respect and then shit,
Education standards like compost.
Degrees can now be bought,
Or the answers to all exams.
You can even pay for a proxy to take it,
Once released the river overflows all the dams.
But I'll come back once I'm killed,
In the morning of the next day.
I'll come back in haunting moments,
Of scared and furtive glares, too mute to say.
It's in the very dry blood,
That the lines will appear again.
The silence will be broken to ring in,
Hell and the reign of pain.
In recursion of fractal patterns,
The themes of horror revisit.
The canines bare in shreik filled air,
The reality turn to flashy and fleshy shit.
I hope the pain becomes permanent,
I hope everyone is sucked into a black hole.
I hope the future is dire and I wouldn't tire,
Until my specter avenges its tortured soul.
The ground you walk, now a chasm so deep, the twists of this planet rock will stop.
The blades of grass as sharp as broken promises, the hillside now littered with my eyes that follow.
The pitter-patter of rain all around will be screaming bloody blood
I'll come back as hungry four heads of a hound, careless hoof kicks of a hostile horse.
