Gentility Siphon

The Siphon is classy and neat,
While draining your blood in the street.
It asks, “Are you well?”
As you descend into hell,
And forces a smile from the meat.

You wanted to scream at the boss,
But the Siphon reduced it to floss.
With elegant grace,
It absorbs all the pace,
And leaves you alone with the loss.

It speaks in a polished soft tone,
While stripping the flesh from your bone.
It’s awfully polite,
While it ruins your night,
And you’re left there to quietly moan.

The siphon was taking the grace
And wiping the smile off the face
The data was drained
The server was stained
We printed a meaningless case

A siphon of gentle intent
The digital energy spent
The error was loud
We step in the cloud
Without any kind of consent

We slowly removed all the care
And left the old database bare
The logic was shot
The process forgot
We’re sitting on a broken chair

The gentility faded away
The system continues to pay
The siphon is slow
With nowhere to go
We wait for the end of the day

The siphon is perfectly flat
We leave the whole database at
A state of decay
For many a day
And blame it on somebody’s cat