Underneath is something black. Something cold and weary. Mold grown from day old bones as my life expires yearly. Days reset. Goals unmet. Gift of time is just yet, another empty box with colorful set rapping...
Ruthe ruthe se wo ab humse rehne lagey hai, Khamosh reh kar he sab kuch kehne lagey hai, Jo rishtey dil me basa karte they kabhi, Wo ab ankho se aansu ban kar behne lagey hai.
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