Greet people I know,
But don't really want to see.
The same flyers are up from last year.
That ugly tiled floor stares up at me.

Blue, yellow and red lockers slam,
Teachers stand at doors.
I really don't want to be here this year.
I've wanted something to do for some time now,
but it wasn't this.

My friends are here, they're laughing
of course.
It's cold in here, I breathe in the smell of bodies
and books, and noise.
Everyone seems happy to be here. Happy the summer is gone.

There are no windows in this hallway.
Through the doors I can see that beautiful and ugly cold, grey morning.
Cars drive up and drive away.
I stare at that morning for a long time through that doorway to freedom.

It is like an asylum in here,
White lights, ugly floor, our cells with the teachers standing at their doors.
The Warden stands outside his office, smiles and says hello.
The small children are scared, I can see why.

As I stare at that doorway, I'll remember that first step.
After that first step millions more will follow.
A million first steps over that threshold to lead to another day,
Into confusion, noise and into longing for summer,
But it is too late to go back, freedom has passed.