It’s a about a joyful sorrow,
It’s not what it seems,
Knows about his black tomorrow,
Under a bright sun beam
The tears are not seen,
But the eyes are totally wet,
Never seems to be mean,
Thinks, nothing he would get,
Treats himself like crowd,
That never got a name,
May be wants to cry loud,
Thinks, “I have lost the game”
I would wish to tell the soul,
Things are never the same,
Spread love and be happy,
Just
be a Hall of fame.
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