Burnt Kids

This ain`t no London Fire,
This ain`t no public ire,
Still there’s something queer about it,
Something unclear about it,
On the days when it was hot,
Even the days it snowed,
I saw burnt kids on the road.
What burnt them was the age old fuel,
A drive towards knowledge accrual
A bunch of papers, touched with ink,
A saturated mind, filled to the brink
When Armageddon starts creeping,
Everyone stops sleeping,
I saw them cry,
I saw them die,
I saw darkness under their eye.
They were fed to sharks,
An ugly bunch, also called Marks.
Some burnt in ACs,
Some burnt in Fans,
Some in the noise of Clinging Pans
It’s not their class that burns them,
It’s not their money,
That is the biggest irony.
They are slaughtered,
Just like lambs,
This, my friend, is
The Appetite of Exams
That eats all kids and parents alike,
Still their taste, it doesn’t like.
The teachers still go on a strike,
The fees, always on a hike.
Children who are short and tall,
Doesn’t matter if you rise or fall,
Cos, all in all you’re just
Another Item in the Mall