Popping out from Heaven,
I am ready for the blow.
That will haunt me for eternity,
And send me down below.
My mind is filled with confusion,
A natural high, a depressing drug.
The paper sits before me,
A mocking song, forever sung.
So as I prepare for the strike,
That will doom my days with it's glow.
I am ready for the strike,
I am ready for School's Final Blow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem