When days of pain are dull and long,
and nights of lonesome thought never end,
then I sit here and sing my song,
the PhD blues - my last remaining friend.
The data seems to satisfy,
never anybody sitting high,
on the supervisor throne,
they critisize me without measure,
and seem to derive so much pleasure,
from telling me how bad it is
my work, writing, style and all the lack,
of criticality they miss,
and all I think is :what the f***?