He who has no songs in his praise,
He who toils in silence through the day,
It's part of his skin now,
The tired look on his face,
Needs, he needs to take care of
The finances should be in place.
And since he's got a gun between his legs,
He needs to forever be the man he is,
Feelings he can't let show,sharing them is a sin,
The turmoil inside, he comes to terms with it,
When a man of his mettle, lends him an ear,
He whispers to him the story that is his .
Growing up, we forget our own stories,
In evenings like these, we try to recollect,
How it would have felt to live those moments
Moments that are part of our history today.
