What's left isn't right,
their noise deafening white -
where boys raising the fight
lack appraising their height.

So amazing,
they're dazed
all the days
spent in hazing;
scare rays
of sun away.

Left to pay everything
to what still stays,
in spite of lost brothers,
despite delayed dismay,
who stay
alright
all night
remain too distant to play.

In spite of their plight, they make light of the day.
After night cools the fight, turning white down to gray.
Hungry laughter sounding dafter
I left to write, are you okay?

Alright! The fools follow their rules,
to use as tools to nail what they
mean to say, are mean to say
a bed is where you lay down what you made.
You said you swear you're okay in the shade.