Not another rock – n – roll;
Not another punk, or jazz –
Not another song they stole.
Not another hip – hop beat,
Not another rap of words;
Not another of those blues –
It’s a tale of all free birds.
So, if want to know it –
Come with me to my past.
And, if you’ve known of fun times –
That time was not your last.
Think of a crowded tram station
Or wilderness stretching miles.
Think of trust, and treachery, and
It’s all in the IX B Files.
Those baffling words still jar my ear
When memories knock at the door.
The painful laughter – those joyful tears –
How I wish I had them more.
Bunking classes and punking pals,
And people thought college was surreal!
The teachers we miss – first crush – first kiss –
IX B was the one thing for real.
It’s not that life was never in distress, but
Even the moon has a blemish.
But all good things end, so in 2003,
Come April, and the magic would vanish.
Think of a crowded bus depot, or
Wilderness for miles –
Think of friendship, love and war, and
It’s all in our IX B Files.