Too long I listened to the changing choir
That waxed and waned as plaintive pitch grew higher
Because I to a tower’s spot aspired
And let that hope persist for far too long.
Now my ears are ringing with the song
That comes discordant, driven by the throng
Of those who claimed, and falsely, that they yearn
To gather up new knowledge, and to learn
How they might from the Stupid God return.
All that they sought was how to make a buck;
For what I had to offer, not a fuck
Gave they, save rarely. I had little luck
In seeking a profession based on chance.
My card is empty; no more thus I dance.
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