The day starts wid a ringing bell
As if dragons ,breathing fire from hell.
Lost in nightmares that belong to past
Wake up,discover time ticking fast.
Its nine already,you make a wish
Curse the alarm,for its fatal miss
Think of the nightly princess that came with akiss
when you were on the bed,and the clock did hiss.
Hurry to the dept,stand at the door,
tuck in your t shirts and make faces poor
Ask the ma'am "May i come in??"
She has a stare ,says nothing..
Its the class of microprocessors
Like living under the knifes of butchers
She asks questions,you hardly know....
About counters,registers and yea time is slow.
You hear answers murmuring all around you.
You stand up,and make faces blue
The teacher just borrowed a cold stare
She asks you to leave ,attendance demanding care
Then is the class of systems of power
Find yourself vantage points ,beyond glare
All the generators and transmission line
Entangling you ,and suddenly you are not fine.
She asks of calculators or may be computers
You tell stories,thats already told
When in a situtation this grave or that bold
she singles you out, puts the class on hold.
You start feeling the pinch of volts
Single phase or three phase ,you just want a revolt
She talks of being in phase and out
leaving you with doubts,yeah doubts.
Then is the class of machine design
Sit back, to fate you design
Dull class springs into life ,slow murmurs go quiet
Jumping from the hell into dungeons of fright...
Try mastering the laws of optismisation
transformers /motors ,ohh i beg ,beg for liberisation
Cost ,productivity,volume and weight are driving factors.
ohh my life in hell could have been better...
Then comes the hour of machines
Donn't worry the bottle's old so is the wine
You heard the story of brushes..
A year'gone and we still deal with losses..
If you are not yet bore
"explore the world of aramature or core
Load and efficiency ,ahh yes power
Voltage ,current all gone sour.
You, hera the bell ,jump out of the class
whatever energy,thats going to last
Manage to drag your body
Exhausted by the hours of study
Its break and you rush back
Not the canteen but my hostels rack
the food (yeah its called so) is healthy and good
i love it ,atleast its smells gud..
The cooks deserve a prize for consistency
Broken all records of monotocity
All the dishes taste the same
enjoy the lunch and come back home
had enough in the day ,now its time to play
Sit in the back benches and let minds stray
the teachers busy wid her diction
And i am wandering in my fiction
Its the class of instrumentation
lets loose all your figments of imagination
the types of error,and standardisation of scales
Are the last things that ring,before the bell
Well ,the days not ended
I still got pracs
All my prayers i guess weren't heeded
Still got two hours with a crac...
