A futile world moving in their eyes, looks much like a benediction from a spirit. A spirit, what they say, superior to any power governing their abashed lives. Seems so wonderful from every inch. What they don't realise and are unaware of, is the elegiac sounds of misery, brutality and untruthfulness... coverted beneath orchideous layer of fake prosperity. But they do come face to face with reality and feel the world not as the achievement of a great artisan... but a fallacious cavalcade of hapless life, the greatest gaffe by what they call God, resulting in growth of innumerable fiend thoughts in their minds.
They invest their time struggling with lies, continuously emasculating the strength of their life's eclat. The ugly facets hindering their progression towards heydays. Standing in front of their mirrors, what they see is a gamin walking in erratic manner, on the gelid bylanes of a town so ignoble. All of this duel, all of this fight, all of this struggle... making them wear the
