The cold, the jokes, the laundry load,
Stumbling down stairs sans sound.
View, jet black, as you leave your dorm,
Your mom thinks it's too brown.

The cold, the jokes, the laundry load,
Paying twenty for an hour and a half.
A family of foreign articles jammed in the bag,
You look at me and laugh.

The cold, the jokes, the laundry load,
Buried under the Six.
Train of thought screeching to a halt,
Happy, yet remiss.