It is the life in the burghal.
The day starts with crowing of crows.
people dancing on a vanity.
Music is just for a name, ear piercing rather than heart touching.
Furring slaps of vehicles and dusting sky.
Jigsaw cutting woods less but scratches more heart.
Forgotten stars when they danced.
Rushing people every time as time runs faster than age.
Dreams become fables in mending life.
hands are handcuff with buckets of unnecessary stuff but little for piety.
It is the life in the burghal.
The day starts with crowing of crows.
people dancing on a vanity.
Music is just for a name, ear piercing rather than heart touching.
Furring slaps of vehicles and dusting sky.
Jigsaw cutting woods less but scratches more heart.
Forgotten stars when they danced.
Rushing people every time as time runs faster than age.
Dreams become fables in mending life.
hands are handcuff with buckets of unnecessary stuff but little for piety.
It is the life in the burghal.
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