The Dead Poets Society

 

We were the wild Ya Yas

We skulked at night and roared YAWP at the skies

We were the mad ones

Dangling from broken bridges and singing of broken men

We were the Trinians

Dancing in the street, throwing breakfast at passing cars

We were the girls with technicolor hair

Screaming our secrets and whispering our poetry

We were the marauders

Reaching our branch-like arms for the characters we wished to be

Had one of us played saxophone, we would have found a cave

And prayed to our pagan gods to send us words

That could move mountains

 

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