I crawl on the earth. And rise on a pillar.
Something wholly unreal, yet seems real to I. Think my friend, tell me where does it lie?
What can be filled with empty hands?
I cannot be felt, seen or touched. Yet I can be found in everybody. My existence is always in debate. Yet I have my own style of music.
Come up and let us go. Go down and here we stay.
Big as a saucepan, deep as a cup, Even a river can't fill it up. What is it