When we grew up and went to school
There were certain teachers who would
Hurt the children in any way they could
By pouring their derision upon anything we did
And exposing every weakness
However carefully hidden by the kids
But in the town, it was well known
When they got home at night, their fat and
Psychopathic wives would thrash them
Within inches of their lives!
"What's this, boy?" spat the teacher, peering over my desk. She reached a clawed hand down and grasped the ragged scrap before marching to the front of the class with it. Everyone was silent and looking. Twenty - eight pairs of eyes were peering into my soul, and I could feel the embarrassment. But there was more than that. She had taken my poem, something I had written for myself, and was now going to share it with everyone. I retreated into myself like a tortoise.
"He's written a poem. Want to hear it, everyone? Want to see what Pinkerton has wasted his time on?" and she began to read, in a slow, deliberate way, and with every enunciated syllable I drew further within myself to shield myself from all the laughter and eyes and pointed fingers.
"Money, it's a gas. Grab that cash with both hands and make a stash. Money get back, I'm all right Jack, keep your hands off my stack."
And all of a sudden she pounced forward and thrust her ugly face into mine and shouted and spluttered, sending flecks of spittle across my face.
"SO, PINKERTON, WHERE WILL THIS GET, YOU, EH?" she screamed, crumpling the paper into a ball, "WRITING PRETTY LITTLE POEMS WON'T GET YOU PAST THE ELEVEN PLUS, WILL IT? DOOMED TO FAILIURE, PINKERTON, YOU ARE BUT A SPECK OF DUST UPON THE GREAT SCRAP HEAP OF FAILIURES, I SHOULD CANE YOU NOW, I SHOU-"
All of a sudden I was no longer registering what she was saying. Instead visions of school children, their faces obscured by identical masks, wearing identical clothes, marching to the workhouse flooded my brain. And anger, incredible, burning anger, how dare she say I, Pink, was doomed to fail, how dare she! She wants to mould these bright young children into corporate drones! And no, I screamed inside, we shall not! In fact -
We don't need no education
We don't need no thought control
No dark sarcasm in the classroom
Teacher leave them kids alone
Hey! Teacher! Leave them kids alone!
All in all it's just another brick in the wall
All in all you're just another brick in the wall...
The Wall was taking shape. I walked home, like I did nearly every school day, in the rain.