To W.C.W.
God bless you Mr. Rosewater
For all that you have done.
While we pore through SQL,
You’re absolved of your sins.
Tabbing through endless
Spreadsheets and emails
There’s little time for souls,
But for your little reminder.
And we SSH into databases
And extract, transform, load
Til’ we’re sick to the stomach
With your father’s cynicism.
No, we can’t deny the truth:
That we’re in it for the money.
“Hell, I didn’t sell out
For the women and drugs.”
God Bless you anyway, Mr. Rosewater,
Because we’re in demand of a myth
And you’re the purest sort since
The Sumerians sang of the flood.
