tu mujhe nichod de
main tujhe nichod lun
library ke history waale floor pe
post office ke pichhe waale door pe
sej pe ya maze pe, class mein
ret mein ya khet mein, ghass mein
tu mujhe nichod de
main tujhe nichod lun
tu mujhe jhanjhod de
main tujhe jhanjhod dun

chaahe mil lift mein, raat waali shift mein
pee le chaahe oakh se
chaahe chulhe jhonk de
aa tujhe thoda sa bigaad dun
gilliyan billiyan ukhaad dun
tawe se jale talwe mere
kaat mujhe shirt teri faad dun
jaise chaahe khel le
jaise chaahe mod de
jab chaahe dheel de
charkhiyaan tod ke

Squeeze the life from me,
And I'll wring the same from you.
On history's floor of the library,
Behind the post office door, where truths imbue.
On the sage's bed or the table's edge, within the classroom's hum,
In the sand's embrace or the field's expanse, amidst the grass, become one.
Squeeze the life from me,
And I'll wring the same from you.
Shake me, break me,
And I'll return the tremors, true.

In the lift's embrace, on the night shift's run,
Or drink from the source, the wellspring begun.
Ignite the hearth's fire, the embers' glow,
Let me corrupt you, watch the wicked grow.
Uproot the games, the innocent facade,
My scorched soles from the fire's cascade.
Cut through the fabric, tear your shirt apart,
Play as you will, embrace the art.
Bend as you please, mold me in your hand,
Loosen the reins, let the spirit expand.
Give me the spinning wheel, the chance to be.