Why do you think that your only mission
Here, in this illiterate crowd,
Can be described as simple submission
With no desire, no finish, no start?
Why do you cross away your ambitions?
Passion of deeds is thrown aside…
And way of life seems to be repetition
Of someone else’s expressionless minds.
No-one can order, but one can get over
Setting a goal and accomplishing it.
Though, you submit, and your pulse’s getting slower…
So, you are guilty, my dear, indeed.