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Theres always a thin line to cross, and sometimes we like to criss the cross,
to draw a streak and to win the game which was never meant to be played,
How else do you think we were always a head or a tail in every toss,
and how do you think we never called Him the first of the wonders,a non man-made,
The line diminishes and the illusion is faith,faith is the line and the reality is late,
for you would know the way I chalk a white across the dead,
that the memories are now just few unconcerned flower beds,
I do believe in the soul and that soul never dies,
It lives after you but where was it all this while,
The answer is you left the soul always at the line that was,
that thin line,that line when we dared to criss the cross....