a late evaluation

if there's time to sit and think upon the season
we'll know that there are better things to do
the sense of duty is the mind's deep treason
we want to stop but we must follow through
on the morning bell we've cast all our curses
impervious it has been to all such imprecation
we want to turn our anguish into fine verses
but that requires some urgent cerebration
we haven't had a chance to cross some palms
with all the silver needed for proper benison
and then we're forced to scrape and beg for alms
while our opponents feast on beef and venison
life strangles us and cancels all our verve and wit
we're left with sore backs and much more shit