Sad is beautiful, honey.
5:08 AM
If we take the glasses of joy off from our eyes
Only then will we be able to see
How beautiful the world around us is
When it is not blurred
With visions of 'only glee'
How beautiful the world around us is
When it is not blurred
With visions of 'only glee'
There's beauty in the sad smile of that woman
Who sits by the bar counter
In her usual seat
Always getting up when the dawn comes up and bar closes down
As if she waits, everyday, for someone to show up while gulping down tequila as if it's free
Who sits by the bar counter
In her usual seat
Always getting up when the dawn comes up and bar closes down
As if she waits, everyday, for someone to show up while gulping down tequila as if it's free
There's beauty in the scarred face of that little girl
Who sits by the swing
In her usual bench
Always getting up suddenly when her father comes and calls off loud for her
As if she is too scared, everyday, to go home and that park is her only spree
Who sits by the swing
In her usual bench
Always getting up suddenly when her father comes and calls off loud for her
As if she is too scared, everyday, to go home and that park is her only spree
There's beauty in the dulled eye of that boy
Who sits by the window
In his class
Never getting up and running off to the canteen like his other classmates when the bell goes off
As if burying his face in the books will make him understand the text, that he doesn't want to read
Who sits by the window
In his class
Never getting up and running off to the canteen like his other classmates when the bell goes off
As if burying his face in the books will make him understand the text, that he doesn't want to read
There's beauty in the wrinkled skin of that old man
Who sits by the pavement
Wrapped, in his only blanket
Always clutching a photograph, in one hand, on the inside of the blanket
As he reaches out, from another, to pick up a ten, smirking at it while he thinks 'Maybe I'd still had been with my grandson, had everything been free.'
Who sits by the pavement
Wrapped, in his only blanket
Always clutching a photograph, in one hand, on the inside of the blanket
As he reaches out, from another, to pick up a ten, smirking at it while he thinks 'Maybe I'd still had been with my grandson, had everything been free.'
If only we stop pretending like everything is right
Only then will we be able to see
How beautiful the world around us is
No matter how crooked or
Sad, it may be
Only then will we be able to see
How beautiful the world around us is
No matter how crooked or
Sad, it may be
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