I always loved games but the only thing I was truly good at was being competitive but that was the element of fun, the game become a job and this isn't going where you think it is but there I go again, twisting and turning some made up play around your feet so carefully constructed you could see through the passes I was really more from the drama side of it memorizing my lines carefully like a beat I had to march to I never sat on the bench, because I was always a starter but i sat the fight song out andΒ Β I had to look up that football reference because I thought I was rebellious, taking to jazz to play solos whatever would dance out from my bell but when the last bell rang on my last day in first and I got drowned out by trumpets staring down the horns by the modest flutes i lost it, like medicine that wont go down a spoonful of sugar didn't help anything when I buttoned up that jacket for the last time oh, I had a merry tune to toot because like every good marcher, i memorized my part first, before the rest, and after the tie to second I didn't bother much to play in 8ths instead of sixteenths I conditioned for years, and had very little time to rest being competitive made this sabotage become a piece of cake oooh when that tape came back and you were buzzing like a bee to find me and i'd smile at the cassette you were holding, because a mouthful of sugar will help the medicine go down that's where our story comes to rest, no more measures on repeat and the only reason I write it down now is for the laughter we consumed when you knew I made your audition different because who had any sense you'd play first inline with the trombones and the sound of it would be a spoonful of sugar, that made the medicine go down