His palms are sweaty Knees weak Arms are heavy There's vomit on his sweater already Moms spaghetti He's nervous But on the surface he looks calm and ready To drop Bombs But he keeps on forgetting what he wrote down The whole crowd goes so loud He opens his mouth, but the words won't come out He's choking now, everybody's joking now The clocks run out, times up, over, BLAOW