you always tell me
I have to learn
from books which are better
when they burn
you send me to a building
with boring people
they believe I'm a fool
but in fact I'm made of wool
I tried hard
to keep my minds back
but now I think
it's time for some respect
I pack my suitcase
feel my gloom
I leave my room
and take the gun
the teacher tells me
that I'm late
but not I am
it's his fate
anyway
the bullets say
here's our hell
easy to tell
dead bodies
wasted life liquid
unused candies
the gun smiles at it
cruel interruption
I open my eyes
was it just fiction
or wishful thinking