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There was something wrong; there was no bones about
A hypochondriac, he thought it might have been gout
‘Maybe university is not for me…’
‘…sod this, sod that and sod my degree.’
He hit a brick wall in his lectures that had been a breeze
Couldn’t write anything for a cough or sneeze
At several points, he stammered with a wheeze,
‘Excuse me, could I have one of your tissues, please?’
He had a date, she had a smile
Wowee, it was great, and it still beguiles
He could not believe how he had swung
A girl, so lovely and so young.
It had gone great in the restaurant, until the main course
When he coughed in her face with gale force
That was the end of that, he never saw her again
His apologies were met with stubborn refrain.
Socially, he was flagging, for he couldn’t speak
His voice was quiet, and he was rather meek
Reduced to a whisper, he did not chat
His flatmates thought that he was a miserable – oh God, get him a tissue.
His GP assured him that it was not SARS
Just a simple case of a pain in the arse
‘It’ll clear up in a week,’ the doctor said with a grin
But our subject, he remained quite maudlin.
So If not for him, then for you or me
I’ve got this piece of sage advice, you see
If under the weather, then get out of bed
Because the next day will only fill you with as much dread.
Everyone’s the same
they understand the ordeal
They know the score, they know how you feel
There’s no need to be so fraught
Who knows? Maybe it was from them, the freshers flu you caught.
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