koi bat kare hai barso ki koi soch raha kal parso ki
par bhai mere sach to hai ye na kal ka pata na pal ka pata
na kal ka pata na pal ka pata phir soch raha kyu barso ki
phir soch raha kyu barso ki koi bat kare hai barso ki
koi soch raha kal parso ki par bhai mere sach to hai ye
na kal ka pata na pal ka pata na kal ka pata na pal ka pata
phir soch raha kyu barso ki phir soch raha kyu barso ki

jo apni kismat ka lekha hai kisne pada kisne dekha hai
hatho me kismat jo padta hai jhuthi kahani vo ghadta hai
insa ka kaha sach kab hai huya na kal ka pata na pal ka pata
na kal ka pata na pal ka pata phir soch raha kyu barso ki
phir soch raha kyu barso ki koi bat kare hai barso ki
koi soch raha kal parso ki

ye pal har waqt badalta hai sukh dukh ke sanche me dhalta hai
chhod a nahi waqt ne ram ko phir aadmi ka kya anzam ho
kab jane kaha kya hoga yaha na kal ka pata na pal ka pata
na kal ka pata na pal ka pata phir soch raha kyu barso ki
phir soch raha kyu barso ki koi bat kare hai barso ki
koi soch raha kal parso ki par bhai mere sach to hai ye
na kal ka pata na pal ka pata na kal ka pata na pal ka pata
phir soch raha kyu barso ki phir soch raha kyu barso ki

Some speak of years, a distant gaze,
While others dream of coming days.
But brother, truth is plain to see:
No grasp of morrow, nor of glee.
No grasp of morrow, nor of glee,
Then why this thought of years to be?
Why this thought of years to be?
Some speak of years, a distant gaze,
While others dream of coming days.
But brother, truth is plain to see:
No grasp of morrow, nor of glee.
No grasp of morrow, nor of glee,
Then why this thought of years to be?
Why this thought of years to be?

Who reads the script of fate's design?
Who sees the path, the grand confine?
The hand that holds the fate's decree,
Weaves tales of false reality.
When man's words ring with truth and grace?
No grasp of morrow, nor of grace.
No grasp of morrow, nor of glee,
Then why this thought of years to be?
Why this thought of years to be?
Some speak of years, a distant gaze,
While others dream of coming days.

Each moment shifts, a constant tide,
In joy and sorrow, we confide.
Time spared not even gods of old,
What fate awaits the human soul?
Who knows what's here, what comes to pass?
No grasp of morrow, nor of grace.
No grasp of morrow, nor of glee,
Then why this thought of years to be?
Why this thought of years to be?
Some speak of years, a distant gaze,
While others dream of coming days.
But brother, truth is plain to see:
No grasp of morrow, nor of glee.
No grasp of morrow, nor of glee,
Then why this thought of years to be?
Why this thought of years to be?