Teachers

My backpack makes me feel so lucky
I’ve got pockets full of optimism, and a mind made of putty
They starve minds that are hungry
«why should we concentrate when we just regurgitate what you think?»
And how can we train for a job that don’t exist?
We’ll be secretaries' secretaries, or freelance journalists
They drug you if you disagree
Ask one too many questions, they’ll give you add
Sit down. jot down some notes
«no, we don’t encourage genius. just recite their quotes.»
If all else fails, seated in the bleachers
If all you do is fail, could become a teacher