The Broken and The Hurt
Walking in the pavements
The whole body shakin'
Eyes in undecided movements
Like a chameleon
The guilt of their choice
Ashamed of their wisdom

Their pants don't swell anymore
Their pants don't wet anymore
Their mouths don't propose
Their tongues too heavy to hiss
Guilty of their wisdom
Ashamed of their choice

Like a frog
They only hug from the back
At least then, it makes sense
In its own nonsense
The wisdom of their choice
Ashamed of their guilt

They the broken
Don't know the ways
For they love last
But their love lives the least
So, they keep the guilt of their shame,
About the wisdom of their choice

For the broken are broke of love
And the breakers insist
That they are civilized,
Because they don't get hurt
After any break
Like fathers and nuns,
They own the hearts of stone
And a body of spirit

To them, no lady belongs to no man
And men chase whatever is visible
To them, it is a nights stand
That prevents them from breaks
But still, they are guilty of their choice

But still, why do they get sick often?
Because they have the worm.
Why carry plastics smiles?
Because they adhered not to the warning.
They are now ashamed of their bodies
They are now guilty of their own wisdom

Like the devil, they wander
Here and there looking for one
A prey to devour
And before they know
They are wondering what
They have just done

The guilt of their choice
Ashamed of their actions
Yet a stone for a heart