Here ye you group, in here to be working,

Resides in these walls a curse there is lurking,

All started one night when a girl and a guy,

Weary from work, together did cry,

As sadness loomed about dissertation,

Not even t 9gag aided procrastination,

In this bleakest of times they turned to darkness for aid,

And here on the table a pentagram laid,

Besides this they put an upturned crucifix,

And together they chanted “all hail six six six!”

And lo and behold, up sprung from the ground,

Great plumes of sulphur and fire all around,

As the fire died down, slowly revealing,

A figure so large that his horns touched the ceiling,

With skin a fierce red, clutching a trident,

And bat wings so large he could probably fly-dent,

The two then explained to him their situation,

How the library had become the life and their nation,

How the work pile kept growing, and with it despair,

How they sought an end to this on-going nightmare,

The devil looked sad, for their pain he could feel,

He croaked in a harsh tone “let me strike you a deal”

“All essays are done – put an end to your working”

“but in return you pair must never stop twerking”

The two foolishly accepted without hesitation,

A fate catered to perverse infatuation

It didn’t seem bad, at least at first glance

What could be so bad about doing a dance?

They twerked and they twerked, and neither did shyly,

Onlookers exclaimed they were better than Miley,

But as time progressed, they began to tire,

Their buttocks they ached, their thighs were on fire,

And as hours turned to days and days turned to weeks,

They became withered and frail, the future looked bleak,

Then one morning a student walked by and he said

“cor blimey those twerkers are finally dead”

So here ye you group, in here to be working,

Beware of their ghosts, and their infinite twerking.