Moving in the streets of south New Delhi On my way to sell what's left of my soul In order to protect their underbelly No exposure, some heads will roll You're not immortal The game won't protect you A final proposal What else can I do? Moving up the stories to the highest rooftop Looking for a spot as the dusk hits the sky Fumbling with a weapon and I feel my sweat drop Making preparations for someone to die Out in the open With eyes on the market Knowledge still unspoken I'm bringing down the target Hold your breath, behold Hold your breath, behold Take your aim, be cold Take your aim, be cold