Amidst the books and endless night, The shadows cast by study's blight, We strive for dreams that seem so far, Yet every grade becomes a scar. The clock ticks on, its hand a whip, With every test, our hope will slip, In corridors where echoes breathe, We long for ease, for sweet reprieve. Yet deep within, a flame persists, Through doubts and fears, it still insists, For knowledge gained is never lost, Though pressure feels a heavy cost.