Gave yet another lecture. God, I’m boring.
Said all the same old things I’ve said before
With touches of ‘however-ing’ and ‘therefore-ing’.
Dear God, it’s true, I’m just an ancient bore.
If only I could tap my old exuberance,
High spirits that I plied in days of yore,
Then maybe I would find a kind deliverance
From the curse of being such a bloody bore.
For I’m the model of a modern academic.
I’m absolutely super at ennui.
I’m just stunning when it comes to a polemic,
And boredom’s snoredom’s what I guarantee.
I’m putting extra pennies in my pension.
Retirement beckons and the garden calls,
That beautiful, botanical dimension
Where boilersuited pensioners scratch their balls.
But I’ve a problem, and it’s called ‘work ethic’, so
I’ll slog on with the daily, dreary toil.
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, what a lousy way to go,
To work all day then burn the midnight oil.