To teach a hundrednWith split lips, shin-splints and sore throats.nWith words constantly begging revision.nWith all our desires, dressed in our basements best.nSo anyone that ever wanted change could hear a voice that sounded the same as theirs.nThe question has never been whether or not hope would remain,nbut if we can gather enough in our hands to match the fire in our lungs.nWe keep time with songs on repeat.nWe keep warm with the words that we scream.nHope is a crutch.nPush your desires.nOur words are fire.nTo teach a hundred.