Every day we all pile in that room with the tile floor,

Room 302 I think it is,

And we sit in a circle and talk about our problems.

We talk about our feelings, we talk about love,

Just in a different way than everybody else.

We get yelled at, we try our hardest,

Yet it is never enough to soothe a mundane piece of work.

But at 6:34, in room 302, in some city, in some state

that you will never hear about (in both cases),

something miraculous happens.

It gives us warmth. It gives hope.

It gives us the power to keep going, as flowers do when

They suffer the droughts that are oh-so-common,

In places like room 302.

This event shows the people that we are the troopers

That sludge through just to average something better than the rest.

We are the Navy seals of the school. Nobody cares,

but it’s us that gut it out and hope for the best.

So, at 6:20, as we sit and wait,

We wait for 6:34.