You are wicked, wretched and heartless...
A midnight call was all it needed,to break everything down...
And he lied,on his beautiful bed,still smiling as a drop of tear fell,
Yet no one will know,how much the pillow,the bes sheets of his bed have drank...
The small room with a bright light could not even hide,how wretched he was ...
Thankfully he doesnot play,anymore..
Thankfully he is free,yet caged..
Thankfully no one knows him,who he is really..
And thankfully everyone see a lost drunkard in his place...
And he doesnot try to make anyone understand,what he feels
When the wishpers of past try to get him..
When even the calming moon cannot calm him down,
When alcohol cannot drown the pain..
When loud beats of music cannot wipe away the mocking laughters,
When all he sees is a destroyed man,when he looks at the mirror...
What can he do,If you feel good about him or not ...
What can he do when he has no one to look for..
What can he do,for you,when he is walking through his own death everyday..
What to do,when all that remains is echos,calling him Heartless...
