Practice
Arrive at the school,
Make sure I'm packed.
In through the door,
Where I meet to chat.
Eric calls "set",
I run to my place.
Strap my cymbals on ,
And hear the bass.
Exercise 1,
Inches at 12,
Though it seems simple,
It's more than I wish to delve.
Alternating notes,
Brenton and I,
Smack every hinge,
The tenors close by.
The drums click up,
My arms go down,
Take off the drums,
And my fatigue is found.
Mr. Jamison talks to us,
Chris Bill chimes in too,
Until their faces,
Are small and blue.
Drums back on,
March to the caf.
My energy was full
But now cut in half.
March back to the band room,
Red in the face,
No more strength to play,
Or make a hace.
The teachers dismiss us,
We go on our way.
Until tomorrow
Which'll be just like today.