Forget all if my life says,
I can all, except my high school days.

Wandering outside the nasty gate to collect our company,
Of course all the essential chores to be done early.

To see your confederate in the queue of latecomers,
And their desperate eyes as orphans and leftovers.

That incessant address of Deen and the sun,
Cursing the personnel as it made us burn.


First class-the Chemistry,oh such a misery,
Bunk-Ahh refuge,in the tunnel or under a tree.

Always on the back bench,we sang and created...