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Fred Dekker

de End Of A Year

The box of frayed ends
The talk of group sex
Bent cocks for bruised hands
Please, let's all stay repressed

This place is too much for me
I've learned so much already
The kids they talk, and the kids they keep talking
They treat the grounds people like bags of cold shit
While hanging banners for workers' rights
So much direction, but no follow-through
A mountain of cocaine bury papers past-due

I took a class this semester
Socialism in the name
Here's what I learned
"All people are the same
The workers of the world await their savior
Someone who doesn't know a shovel but has a killer GPA"

I actually choose to be here
I pay for the chance
But it would better serve my future if I robbed a fucking bank

Call me a cynic, but frankly I don't get it
They tell me this matters. They say it's a leg up
They say it's about options, but maybe not for me
And the only legs I see are drunk on $2 cups

Came here for the learning, stayed here for the boring
Stay here for some reason... Maybe a sense of privilege?
Over-privileged, yes
Student. student

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