It's the last tap you could have done on the keyboard
but at the last stroke you notice it hurt you
and then the sweat starts to drop
like the soldier who realize that It was his last shot
then you feel it's awful taste on your mouth
the same taste that begs you for a shower
on that tenth bloody day with no wind
and burning sun on your back
you realize that your eyes are almost dry
but you don't shut them, it still hurts
and run away from sunlight, it makes you shut your eyes
dry mouth with that delightful sore all over your lips
specially on the middle part of them
yeah it's true, you've been typing by 30 hours
and your brain is so strained
you can't tell what's white or light gray
and still, you can tell the same album
it's been playing from six hours ago now
you don't mind if it had rained
actually barely tell if it's at night yet
but well aware you're close to deadline
and then what it's working and what not, you know it
no clue what got you there on the first place
now it's done, damn geek
though you would prefer the idea
of having the gods searching your head
on the quest for the best idea
like the greatest mathematicians of the past
now, somehow you got stuck on which finger to move first
and now it's been two hours since the last letter
popped out on the screen coming from a finger of yours
and start feeling the pain your body denied
since the last dawn