• We get up every morning,
    Walk thought the freezing cold.
    To a place where we should feel at home,
    Or so we are told.

    The school seems even colder,
    Than it feels outside.
    The radiators are all broken,
    Heat and warmth have died.

    We sit in class at hard desks,
    And chairs that are even harder.
    Under the fluorescent lights,
    That are supposed to make it brighter.

    Some write in their copybooks,
    Or some, like me, close their eyes.
    Some escape in their daydreams,
    With sad expressions and sighs.

    Twelve years we have to be here,
    While inside we cry.
    At the place where we spend,
    "The best years of our lives!"


    L. S