The gloom sets in from Sunday night br When your mom reminds you br 'Go to sleep, its 8, br You have school tomorrow, don't you? ' br Mumbling, and grumbling br And cursing under your breath br You think, 'Monday mornings are worse than br The most painful death' br Next morning you are shaken awake br Quite violently by your mother br Looking at the time, you have to think br 'Why does she even bother? ' br Dragging your feet across the floor br You splash water on your face br Then you make your way back to your room br At a slow and steady pace br As you cram random books inside your bag br Realization dawns upon you br 'Yikes! I haven't done my homework, br Oh man! I'm gonna be chewed! ' br 'No time! ', you think, glancing at the clock br 'I might as well copy off someone in school' br Grudgingly, you step out of your home, thinking, br 'Mondays are so not cool! ' br In school, the teacher literally blasts you, yelling, br 'You had a whole weekend didn't you? ' br You mumble an inaudible sorry but you're thinking, br 'Guess what? I have a life and six other subjects too! ' br The rest of the day passes by slower br Than a turtle trying to walk on glue br As every minute seems to stretch into days br And you're writing till your hands turn blue br As we look at our watches tick in extra-slow motion br We bang them on the desks, but in vain br Some of them have started breaking the chairs br Most of them have gone insane br The final bell is like a blessing br The most soothing sound to our ears br As we scream and run out of the prison br Where we feel like we've been trapped for years.