| A scream, a shout far in the distance, |
| Maybe the first or second floor, |
| A curtain's colour in the windows; |
| Never seen behind closed doors. |
| |
| A silent sage behind politeness, |
| Domestic harmony for sure. |
| Lost in the mirage of a marriage, |
| Outside, a world she'll never know. |
| |
| And as I see through the real you, |
| I'm falling straight into |
| A thousand broken mirrors; I can't hide. |
| And outside, the bright lights |
| Can't hide the pain inside, |
| And I'm broke in a thousand mirrors. |
| Now it's time, |
| Now it's time, |
| Now it's ti-i-i-ime. |
| |
| Loving her children with a passion, |
| Protecting them at any cost. |
| Taking the only course of action; |
| There's no more bridges left to cross. |
| |
| Who are the ones who are the guilty? |
| Who are the ones who wear the scars? |
| We must not leave our sisters bleeding. |
| We sing this song for Tsoora Shah. |
| |
| And as I see through the real you, |
| I'm falling straight into |
| A thousand broken mirrors; I can't hide. |
| And outside, the bright lights |
| Won't hide the pain inside, |
| And I'm broke in a thousand mirrors. |
| Now it's time, |
| Now it's time, |
| Now it's ti-i-i-ime. |
| |
| (Indian singing.) |
| |
| And as I see through the real you, |
| I'm falling straight into |
| A thousand broken mirrors; I can't hide. |
| And outside, the bright lights |
| Won't hide the pain inside, |
| And I'm broke in a thousand mirrors. |
| Now it's time, |
| Now it's time, |
| Now it's ti-i-i-ime. |
