You take the prophets and trip them on mushrooms again
So they can claim they met god and create a new religion for their friends
Or describe them in stories consisting of lakhs; with flying carpets and elephant heads
Take all the followers they have; still chained to these fiends; knowing all yet knowing nothing.
Men who sold the world for maintaining status quo; in the garb of caste, religion and countries.
Let ’em sit with the gambler while he deals;
a few have the world in their hands; most live forever without a piece of land
Our enemy is known; he has just not revealed himself.
He is off training and preaching his bigotry and hypocrisy in remote lands
Where he sells religion in a new bottle, dances and pretends;
Ria Memoria;
Explain karma and your fraud god to a six year old with leukaemia.
Is it the genes or your inherent paranoia?
Drenched in bleach; all souls that walk are creeps.
Even flow; quote the raven nevermore.
We are living all thoughts again; a time loop.
A basketball hoop; a field with a parked car and bodies glued.
A sneak into a house when it is empty.
A cheesecake. A drive to find her and self.
A heaven and hell. Even flow;
All the women that touched his life.
True lies; even believe has a lie.
Apart; standing in the dark.
Back to reality; back home.
My sacrifice; like smoke I rise.
Himanshu Chakravarty Sharma / मंच 