These hallowed halls mean nothing to me.
Trapped here, devoid of glee,
forced to unstopping slavery.
Four years, and I'm free.

Teachers, instructors, whatever they are
Stretch long in lines, near and far.
Icy stares, orders mar,
Turning our ears to tar

Though it's truly only from eight to three
That we're trapped, devoid of glee
But then, homework, certainly!
Unlocking those bitter chains, till' we're weepy

Four years,
Trapped until we're just in tears
Summer vacation, till' Augustly fears
Begin to cause more grinding gears

To shift once more
Till our wills are no more.