Why is it me they always choose?
I know that I will always lose
And sit among lines all my school years
Till I am brought well nigh to tears.
Lines, detentions, all the works!
'Round every corner a Prefect lurks.
Inside, all year, is full of sorrow;
I'll hang myself by my tie tomorrow.
So end all of this misery,
For only death could set me free.
John Francis
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