D-Day

To everyone good luck, and good luck to all
In the eleventh hour comes the time to fall
Today, march the citizens, of DPS F Block
So sharpen yer pencils, and pull up yer socks
For the months have passed, gone is the cold
An experience to leave us a hundred years old
For grown bitter we have, in the month gone by
And now some will rejoice, and some will cry
And the rare odd soul may give up and die
In the land of Board-or, where the shadows lie