Paper rockets fly across the room when she walks in...
holding her books to her chest rushing to her seat,
Messy hair and nerdy glasses, you can see no drop of tear....
like a defeated soldier, she decides to retreat

Gum on her seat, ink on her paper work
the toilet's filled with sketches of her....
notes stuck to her back, books dumped in the trash
seems like pain became her pleasure !

I think you don't know about her after sunset...
if you hear a knock on your door after twelve, its her
if you pass by her...