To the sailor walks home from long nights at the bars,
To the douchey hipsters and their dollar PBRs.
To the bros at the House with their jaws made of glass,
To the skank on the ice who fall flat on her ass.
To folks on the prowl with amorous desperation,
To guys on the corner with suspect occupations.
To the Zephyr and Rays, the Gyro and Stone,
To the chick in the theater textin' on her phone.
To the Bad Idea Bears convincing us to swim,
To a pint o' Guinness filled to the brim.
To unmaintained streets and fucking potholes,
To the guy in the park who bared me his soul.
To yelling at trains and singing the Storm,
To mocking our friends who still live in the dorms.
To Waltzin' Matilda one drunken night,
To breakin' with Liz after one brutal fight.
To the memories gained,
To the roots I have sewn.
To the City of Kent,
The place I call home.