I live in a house, where I can hear Mumbai's song
The rumble of traffic and a train's tooting horn
The rumble of traffic and a train's tooting horn
Late in the night, sometimes sleep is tough to find
I look out from the window, to join this city's unending grind
Occasionally, the moon joins in, and bathes the city in white
Or at least those few spots, that arent already bathed in streetlight
I wonder in such company, if I could ever go back to a quieter place
Far removed from this hustle bustle, not running at a breakneck pace
I realize I may have changed too much, I might not like the man I see
In that quiet, I might hear my own disappointed voices, and that may be too much for me
Perhaps a good night's sleep, is a price I cant afford anymore
Ironic are the costs we bear, in the pursuit of the dreams to which in our youths we swore
x
I look out from the window, to join this city's unending grind
Occasionally, the moon joins in, and bathes the city in white
Or at least those few spots, that arent already bathed in streetlight
I wonder in such company, if I could ever go back to a quieter place
Far removed from this hustle bustle, not running at a breakneck pace
I realize I may have changed too much, I might not like the man I see
In that quiet, I might hear my own disappointed voices, and that may be too much for me
Perhaps a good night's sleep, is a price I cant afford anymore
Ironic are the costs we bear, in the pursuit of the dreams to which in our youths we swore
x
