3am, why am I up?
Work of course, just my luck.
They're all in bed,  he's not asleep
He just left me down here to keep
Working at this stupid thing
Of which I understand nothing
And finish, I hope, before dawn
I think, ending with a yawn.

3am, what keeps me here?
I need to finish, that is clear.
But having done over a page
I'm feeling that, without a wage
I should not need to write much more
For this is becoming a bore.
Not that she cares, it is Miss Dean
Unless this work ends up 'pristine'.

3am I want my bed.
Yet I get a table instead.
A table, chairs and paper too
The tools I need, I guess that's true.
Yet what I want much more than this
A substance which I really miss
Is coffee, oh dear God I wish
I had some I could drink, for this
Makes me think I will need the kiss
Of life for this quite takes the piss. 

The End

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