i think of coding as a curse
some dumb young man with a lady's purse
flying like a bird caught by the wind
not knowing that the speed won't change the end

bigger thoughts grow older, stranger
wearing fifty's french cologne
i'm a dog deranged by anger
perfecting the bite mark pattern on the bone

the end is close, the end is closer
i'm almost there each time i stop
not growing from the days of work even a bit wiser
just sweating out ideas till i drop