Mortarboard, gownhood, and place, come guide me
in learning, in ascension,
where minds may meet
and twitters tweet in modern Latin in declension.
O Domine, O Magister,
we aspiring angels sing,
with one tongue,
forever young,
let us follow better things.
In saintly word and perfect grammar,
to academia's lofty space,
the trivium,
quadrivium,
all base our thoughts now to a phase.
O Domine, O Magister,
we aspiring angels sing,
with one tongue, forever young,
let us follow better things.
Crowbunter bashing,
caner thrashing,
lines detention soon forgot.
O dark ploy,
this grammar school boy has paid the price and fought the lot.
In the clienars of life's twilight,
old school ties and photographs,
I call to mind the sore behind the tears,
the last and longest last.
Empty desks and inkwells,
darkened chapels,
cop-out corridors silent now.
Mostly purple robes and dusty trencher,
what could be holier than thou?
O Domine,
O Magister,
we aspiring angels sing,
with one tongue,
forever young,
let us follow better things.
Bene, ordo sexual,
made we follow better things.