Pencilcase Penitentiary

Classrooms classrooms, all I’ve ever seen,

       Teachers preaching their own gospels, each their own regime,

But where learning is learnt, and teaching taught,

       All this education seems for naught,

In the head of a dreamer where blank pages span his mind,

      It’s a sin to confine behind chalkboard bars so unkind,

O scream to break out, at the top of my lungs,

       But no one can hear shouts of a monotonous drum,

See here I am dying to leave,

      Just about ready for infinite possibility,

It seems I’m held back by the nape of the neck,

      By a fear much different than fearing a shipwreck,

We’re taught that the future is based on the past,

      In the past stones are cast that dreams never outlast,

So we attend these prisons printing degrees religiously,

      Marching alumni that swear such fealty,

Terminally dreaming of trains, plains, and boats,

      All the while sitting here copying notes.



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