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When painfully from out the warmth of bed
You crawl at Monday dawn, and all is glum
From prospects of the hour exams to come
And papers not yet writ, you shake your head
Still dull with sleep; "Alas," you moan, and shed
The musty sheet. But yet there lives a some-
What feeble hope of pleasures that might numb
This dreariness: a journal not yet read.
'Tis then that Joy her contract doth renege
And lets escape an evil little laugh,
By fancy, poisoning this place, this time;
And you are doomed to break the breakfast egg
Unheartened by a single paragraph.
Hey gang honest to god no kid no CRIME.
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