The clock tells ten past one
is long gone past the time
when you should lie awake
by comforting your mind
as you still scroll online
"I'll make up for lost time"
What punishment this grog!
Would all the hordes of Gog
Beat on drums,
Stamp their feet,
No din could raise this dullness which
my 'thought' has reached
And eyes suffer the most
There tiredness resides, reminds
how months, mere weeks of negligence,
dutiful, made you weak
Now sit and stew and weep
You spent your time too cheap
Your life is less in shambles
than it consists of ambles
in which you oft' partake
whilst mostly half-awake
a state encouraging
your every slothful sinFootnotes:
Britannica on Gog