the scrambled puzzle pieces were right there
each complete in itself yet waiting for a fix
be it a cocaine shot, a whiskey or a kiss
apart a part, together a whole
need a bigger view to see
the perspective wide, in remembrance of the oak tree
the seeds of which were planted a long time ago
while i sat there with my marshall and listened to the swan song
the voice was of a hypocrite
the lyrics were by a scoundrel
the music by a person scorned
it starred a lover named liar
the video had killed the radio star
the truth was lost in transmission
while we were travellers in transition
destination unknown
lost in our time zones
pretending like we don’t care
while the truth was unscarred and unscathed: right here ;
मंच 