What the hell computer? What the fuck?
Did I do that? I'm pretty sure not, so
I think it's you, and you're starting to suck.
At least you picked the perfect time to go:
Right when I'm writing. Thanks a lot. You know,
A bunch of circuits shouldn't have a soul,
But I'm sure that you have one, vile and low,
Seeking out my pain as your heart's goal.
When I first bought you, you were fresh and whole,
Ready for whatever I might do
Or wish to do; you filled your purposed role
And I was on the whole happy with you.
Now you're malignant, and you cause me pain
I think I ought to disengage your brain.
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