We ply this route
Now and then,
In royal search
To fulfil our daily plight
Which appeal to us all
Our friends, foes and breed
We ply through this track
Like an Olympian, dogged
To hit the finish line
The man on the wheels dash
Thru still wind, with alcohol driven hands
Respecting it order - the liquor
That bade the way for him
We drive on this road
Coated with thirsty, blood
Of our own beloved brothers
That met an early water loo
Before their red-letter days
Their own dark mornings
A sad sun-set at dawn
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