ye raat monalisa jaise sangin hai
aadhi khushi hai aadhi gamnagin hai
ye raat monalisa jaise sangin hai
aadhi khushi hai aadhi gamnagin hai

khidkiyo ke bahar girta kitna saara neer hai
aaj maano ?? bahot neer hai
samjhte ye khudko parinde hai par ye ud nahi sakte
kabhi pankho se fadfadate hai par ye ud nahi sakte

in shuturmurgo ki daasta to hamesha ki hai
padna nahi chahti hamesha apne shishe dhak leti hai
ye itne badsurat hai kya
kabhi pankho se fadfadate hai par ye ud nahi sakte

inki durtgulab ki haveliya hai
dekh inhe sukh hai
sunne me kaato ki saheliya hai

one two three four
kamjor se dilo pe muskane hai
udas muskane hai, mayus muskane hai
kamjor se dilo pe muskane hai
mayus muskane hai, udas muskane hai
thaki thaki si hai phir bhi ye chal rahi hai
samjhte ye khudko parinde hai par ye ud nahi sakte
kabhi pankho se fadfadate hai par ye ud nahi sakte

sehar tehar ko barsane ko hai
aur hosh masti ke scooter par sawar hai
sehar tehar ko barsane ko hai
aur hosh masti ke scooter par sawar hai
nada se nashe me jhum rahe hai
jaise ye koi nur hai kya
bhatak si nikalti aasane hai nazaro ke namaaj hai

This night, a Mona Lisa's shadowed grace,
A tapestry of joy, a mournful space.
This night, a Mona Lisa's shadowed hold,
Half glad, half grief, a story to be told.

Outside the panes, a deluge starts to fall,
A flood of tears that answers every call.
They think themselves as birds, with wings to rise,
Yet trapped below, they beat against the skies.

The ostriches, a tale that knows no end,
Forever hiding from the truth they send.
Afraid to face the mirror's cold display,
So ugly are they, that they hide away,
They think themselves as birds, with wings to rise,
Yet trapped below, they beat against the skies.

Their palaces of thorns, a bitter bloom,
A twisted joy, that fills each hollow room.
They hear the whispers of the thorns so deep,

One, two, three, four,
Faint smiles upon the fragile heart's despair,
A weary smile, a hopeless, heavy air.
Faint smiles upon the fragile heart's despair,
A weary smile, a hopeless, heavy air.
Though weary, still, they stumble on the way,
They think themselves as birds, with wings to rise,
Yet trapped below, they beat against the skies.

The dawn, it threatens rain upon the world,
And reason rides a scooter, wildly furled.
The dawn, it threatens rain upon the world,
And reason rides a scooter, wildly furled.
The ignorant, in drunken haze they sway,
Are these the lights that guide our fading day?
Lost, they offer prayers, in gazing eyes that pray.