4 in the morning, at the 14th level,
In my balcony, when I'm having a smoke.
After a drag or two, I stretch my arm,
To share it with someone, I can call as a folk.
But there ain't any, I miss those many,
Friends that I had back home.
Nothing was mine, I earned nothing,
They were they only once, I owned.
Trust me or not, I miss them all,
They lie somewhere in my heart beneath.
I feel such things, I feel this bit,
Every Morning 4 air, that i breathe.
No comments:
Post a Comment