The Tenure Itch

His indiscretions, you don't mind He says your thoughts need form But your form's not hard to find These late night sessions, he's master still Just one more lesson leaves you twisting to his will Every night he comes and goes again If it isn't right, it isn't him He makes corrections, you shut the blinds You're talking less and less, But the words aren't hard to find His last suggestion, it makes you ill, Still one more lesson leaves you twisting to his will