the more i beat women
the less they listen
and the more their tears glisten
with the rising sunday sun

and so they run
while i write poems about nothing
typing on a keyboard designed for an ass
drinking from a plastic cup
that desperately wishes it was a glass
in a gloomy darkness of an emacs buffer
knowing that half my colleagues have never suffered
the productive efficiency of a programmer's life

the more i torture women
the less they care
with speeches that don't lead anywhere
except an implied poetic threat that i should be dead in a week