I was in Spain,
Everybody was saying Hola.
But I was in pain,
Because I had Ebola.

The air was breathing exhaustion,
The wind blew into my face.
I almost tripped in the next junction,
Because I didn't tie my shoelace.

The sky was dark blue,
With a shade of grey.
The miserable clouds grew,
This was not a very fun day.

Along the road I saw passer-by's,
They didn't say hi, but neither did I...

As I got out of my history room,
I started to formulate my last words for
My death that would take place at 204.
I walked into inevitable doom,

And here I was seated, and I assume,
Lunch is torture, torment and nothing more,
Stinky beef, stuffed chicken, and some dead boar.
The trays arrived, I imagined my tomb,

I had consumed something deadly toxic.
I looked at the clock: seven minutes late,
At my dish, there’s still something exotic.

I threw my broccolis to my friend’s plate,
And saw some lovely fish, very aquatic.
Then I exclaimed, “Where’s my fish for God’s sake?”