The book doesn't reveal until you start turning da pages,
My Story lies unread from da first word to da very last...
The words are the same as said by priests n by sages,
But still for you their usage goes on turning aghast...
The Book is there in yur hands,
It lays waiting to be read...
But you want to mute it by rubberbands,
And feel the urge to throw it instead...
You just don't want to waste yur time,
On a story depressingly associated wid me...
But maybe there's something in there to rhyme,
Maybe wid happiness or wid glee...
It wouldn't interest you i'm sure,
Cause you're happy wid what you know...
But maybe I ain't so impure,
Maybe it'd be better fer us if you gave it one go...
You're so sure of the image you've made,
You wouldn't care bout da depiction in da book...
But maybe this ain't a game i've played,
Maybe this actually took my whole life to cook...
You're just so right in whateva you think,
There'd be all lies in my story...
But maybe i've not made up dis link,
Maybe this is not just my shot to glory...
You're just so unfazed by whateva i've said,
Hardly bothered bout my story n me...
But maybe this story is worth being read,
Maybe i'm not just another one in the melee.......
