BY The Bus Kid

I ask a  week before finals,
You spare us from these trials.
Most still remain with nightmares
From the earlier affairs
Where we shivered without internet
Our minds mimicking our death

We cried and teared from the empty
The empty void that made us envy
Of the commuters with access
To the web, while we distress
No porn, no Netflix, nor Wiki
Whilst professors offered no pity

And now, we are without saviour
For Don Smith left his labor
No one left to rid us of this plight
For perhaps there is still light
To the being named Exfocus
We ask you to spare us

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