In this great land of uncommon sages
Where iniquities have become rated
And hard labour, paid with meagre wages
While morals and truth are dead hated ...
In our home, where we dwell and dine
We rest, revel and our lives do shine
the gaiety of life in our world recline
and we build our lots for us to be fine ...
In the hope of an umpteen boon I sit
Like a star still in the spell of the night
Shunning the dole of diurnal orbit
Solo scouring mega rays of the Light ...
Suppose, my dear, that you were I
And by your side your sweetheart sate;
Suppose you noticed by and by
The distance 'twixt you were too great;
Now tell me, dear, what would you do?
I know-and so do you.
