And you glance at the date
And the clock in the corner;
It’s already getting late.
Your eyes are tired,
Your mind weary and cloudy.
You’re trying to stay up
And convince yourself you’re wired
Enough to cram some more,
But you’ve yet to succeed,
For your brain and your eyes are sore,
And your heart begins to strain,
And your eyes water, but you bite your lip,
And there’s a throbbing in your brain
Because you never learned how
To be anything.
You cannot glide anymore,
And you cannot fly.
A cry of victory, you cannot sing,
And as your eyes well with tears
You can still see ahead:
Empty, rough, terrible years.
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