It seems that November has finally reached India
Chilly tonight in the vacant moonlight
It is home that I see in my faint memory
Of the tiger to be which is all that I dream
Anymore for the haziness here doesn’t phase me
‘Cuz nothing’s amazing except when it’s wavy
And all that I am is now lazy with smog
But I’m grinding through time like an old, rusty cog
So in helping them grow like a gardener of minds
Cultivating the youth that is mine in decline
Far behind is it gone and where once it stood thus
Is pollution and poison and ash clouds of dust
Just gun shots exploding in satellite skies
Contact languages have become my contact highs
I can still take a sip of the foamy fizz phony
But with every drop I feel more like bologna
On some kind of journey, a quest to be best
To be better than beast and be least of all blessed