Passed from hand to hand were they, there was nothing tickety boo, Yet a weird piccadilly and pleasure for every heart to rest on The cups exchanged hands, but never exchanged moods The steam was only of the flavour tea, not of vaporized gloom They had dreams, they had tunes to be together The sips counted only brimming happiness, The cups broke not, but they shattered to different spots They were not to fulfill their own dreams but of some others They forgot each other's name, exchanged their moods, random They were like the cups of tea, fighting in a cat run Maybe many pictures got erased just as the cups lost work Cups and saucers bore every burn just with the joy they had They lost all, they all are burning, fading Dust from the clock is thickening on the cups, Stale memories are all they have For better read: //Dust from the clock// Passed from hand to hand were they, there was nothing tickety boo, Yet a weird piccadilly and pleasure for every heart to rest on The cups exchanged hands, but never exchanged moods The steam was only of the flavour tea, not of vaporized gloom
