Some mornings are really funny. I mean out of now where, in my favourite pass time of thinking about life, I feel about the life of a NYPD cop on the streets. I mean, he has some life guys. Like just he's on his morning shift on a particularly windy mornings, dressed up like a thorough smart guy. Suddenly the radio beeps and like Charlie, Tango we have a hostage situation at a Bank around the corner. And all of them gather around the building, cordon of the area and start thinking and meticulously planning. With people around watching, amazed and excited. The neat streets with pretty things in scarfs and skirts walking around. And this guy in neat blue dress, munching on this burger, sipping on this coke and taking drag after drag of his cigrattes, concerted and focused on saving lives of innocent civilians and nailing down this extremely sharp professional team of bank robbers and becoming a hero. And sometimes these guys can sip on rum and vodkas because its going to be fucking cold. Kewl
And if thats not enough, think about this, they have all the gadgets and gizmos one would aspire for. They have vests, phones, guns, night visions, snipers on terraces and even the freaking satellites at their disposal. I mean their pretty ass is so fully covered. All they need to have a teeny weeny little bit of luck, which ofcourse god owes to give every one on this planet and their ass is safer than our politicians money in Swiss banks. And after all this technological marvels at his disposal if something untoward happens, they just did not have luck, and then what has happened has happened. Thats it. No ones to be blamed. At least thats my view from typical Indian standards of police. All said and done, I guess they have a adventurous life.
And,I don't realize why do people on a pleasant spring mornings have to sit in the bus with closed windows . Why ? . Why-why-why?. And out of nowwhere I think Moby plays great songs. Just great to kick off your day in spirit that s sober, sad, funny and yet smiling. A sweet mystry surrouding everywhere. And how would you feel with your ear phones blasting with James Bond techno Theme in mornings. Watching with a frown and suspicioius eyes to all those who board the bus. The old guys , the kids, the conductor, every ones a friend and every ones a enemy. But damn it wheres the Bond Girl. Damn Damn Damn ! .
And out of now where your eyes gets glued to the kids little fingers holding his mothers. Both of them lost in thoughts. Ones innocent the others wordly. But the fingers keep playing with each other in a soft trance of ignorance and withing fleeting second James Bonds turned to Picasso.
And you realise you could have been so many persons. You could have been a Astronaut. You could be a piolet. You could be any god damn thing in this world and yet survive and be happy. The pitch of the flute rises and suddenly the chains cut and the stone hurls to the sky. In tangent. Just far away. But alas, on this planet gravity is just enough to pull it down. But every morning I start it this same way, I am hurled to the sky before crashing down.
When will it stop humming. When?
Billy's leaving today (don't know where he's going).
Holds his head in disgrace (he can't escape the truth).
He knows the price that he's paid.
He admits that it's too late to admit that he's afraid.
Tomorrow comes. Sorrow becomes his soul mate.
The damage is done. The prodigal son is too late.
Old doors are closed but he's always open,
To relive time in his mind.
Oh Billy.
Billy's leaving today (don't know where he's going).
He's got lines on his face (they tell the story of his pain).
He accepts it's his fate.
He admits it took too long to admit that he was wrong.
Tomorrow comes. Sorrow becomes his soul mate.
The damage is done. The prodigal son is too late.
Old doors are closed but he's always open,
To relive time in his mind.
Oh Billy.
Once he was a lover sleeping with another.
Now he's just known as a cheat.
And he wish he'd had a mirror; looked a little clearer.
Seen into the eyes of the weak.
Tomorrow comes. Sorrow becomes his soul mate.
The damage is done. The prodigal son is too late.
Old doors are closed but he's always open,
To relive time in his mind.
Oh Billy.
Hey Billy ! ..Where are you going, bruv? I am coming too.
