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Six narrow beds eight wandering hearts astray
Ideals by night petty scores kept by day
Whose words cut like blades whose tears burn and glow
A sky at twenty where low pressures blow
Envying her dress jealous of her light
Cupping someone's face trampling someone’s pride
Romance crashed the door friendships slipped outside
In the typhoon’s eye where our smallness tried to hide
What seemed the whole wide world is just a sesame seed
Silver hair knows better what we truly need
The lights of Room 312 make the memories gleam
All the wild storms soften to a quiet dream
Turning yellowed photos sharp edges worn away
Who became a housewife who runs day by day
The thorns we used to hate now bloom with flowers bright
Turns out every trial left a mark of life and light
What seemed the whole wide world is just a sesame seed
Silver hair knows better what we truly need
The lights of Room 312 make the memories gleam
All the wild storms soften to a quiet dream
Oh young souls drifting in the misty haze
Fear not the storms along your early ways—
They will turn into the pride of your golden days
Six narrow beds where peaceful hours trace
The typhoon of 312 swept through half a century's space
Tonight we raise a glass to all that shook us low—
Every single storm was youth’s most lovely glow
