Who are they to declare when our time has come.
Who are they to think that it is as simple as a date on a calendar.
They haven't seen the last of us yet.
On the desks, and in some cases under them,
On the desks, and in some cases under them,
The reek of us remains.
The walls are littered with our trash,
The floors torn up and stolen, the emptiness,
Our leaving gift.
The textbooks we return, and the writing on the pages.
The absent minded doodling of names.
Our signature.
The countless latenesses, the pile of detentions, and the Miss Dyer's stress.
All us.
The gun in school, The drugs in school, well, everything in school.
All of us.
The faces the teachers will miss,
And even those the teachers won't.
The ties, the Red Ties, that we hated
Came to be who we are.
The worst year, they called us.
They best year, is what we were.
We are Mill Hill County High School, 2004-2009.
And even though we have come to pass.
And our memories, we grieve,
The last day is never, alas,
And we shall never, ever, leave.
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