Dies the Fire
Always early, we must rise,
To attend school and class despised.
To do our tests, all supervised,
Fighting back the urge to cry.
…
Little joys are in-between,
Sparks of fun in city's gleam.
But soon they fade, just like a dream,
Left with the real, all obscene.
…
And so to home we both return,
Filler talk 'bout what we learned.
Once again the diner's burned.
This night, the dishes, father's turn.
…
And so to bed we must retire,
Tomorrow shall be just as dire.
My dreams are filled with built-up ire,
But in Aramanth, long dead's our fire.