There's dirt piling up on the side of the roads, Making it almost an impossible city to walk in, While the dry leaves of the trees, Don't feel romantic enough to me now, Where's all the tax payers money going, Because there are still roads broken at random intervals, Why do they remember the cables, Right before monsoons, oh! When one area's roads get fixed, The next one area is a damsel in distress, Where's all the tax payers money going, Who's the city's mistress? The only

Is the sand and sea indifferent, Or am I not someone who I was, Because this place seems like a stranger, From a familiar friend it was.

There's the bustling street behind me, But I face the sea ahead, Stretching as far as it can go, And it takes me, Away from the chaos...