Door of a Savage Maid.
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She is not happy being called maiden and that’s what she is. Maiden not maiden
She thrives on the sour of life melting sanity and insanity
Rolling in the air and having the root heavy hailing and hauling
And she came like others and lost priority as others.
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Dignity of human lies on the significance of existence.
Withering like drained weakened flowers of July
Then wailing for a self inflicted joy…she is wonderful.
She pays visit to him who patches lives for living.
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Her doors made of glossy glass and windy grasp
They are the truth way and the light . We never prayed to go through you
She claims control over the doors but the keys are with street boys
And I’m confused, who the real owner will be.
Upon this voyage I urge to tight the thigh,
Do make pledge to be patriotic to yourself maid
Lest this sun will set but you can feel heat again
And if without, we pretend seeing your ugliness and join you to one with goitre.