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THE CRIME

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

Yes, it's boring to be storing

Futile facts within one's head;

To keep straining, to keep paining,

While the Cambridge rains are raining,

While the Cambridge drains are draining

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Till the turgid Charles is fed.

Yes, it's hell to be a senior

Now that that can only mean your

Wasting hour after hour nose to book.

No wonder people take to drugs

Or better tonics clad in mugs.

For, surely chronic boredom one can't brook.

L'Envoi

Yes, this huddled education for a ration

Is a nation where elation

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