Epitaph for the Professor

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An addiction of the noble, an addiction of the base
To the grave it leads, with shame and with disgrace

Cirrhosis of the liver, cirrhosis of the mind
The symptoms are apparent, the symptoms are unkind

You pretend it isn’t so, you pretend that all is well
But the liquid in the bottle, will send you straight to Hell

It rots away your mind, it rots away your soul
From its grips you can’t escape, it pulls you to Sheol

Failing is your health, your vitality is gone
And you do not know, if you’ll live to see the dawn

Ever ever gradually, your life does ebb away
NEVER to return, NEVER will you play

Your hair falls out your teeth fall out, Depends you must now wear
A rotting stench comes from your mouth…your grandchildren at you stare

Once you were intelligent…a Doctor PhD
Now in a drunken stupor, can’t add two and three

When you finally die, no one’s going to care
Did your money save you? Did it buy a prayer?


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