Martin Cala 
mgc30

101 Refrain

101, the number of my dreams
until the red glare awakens my screams
I failed all 37 APT's
Now I'm searching for clarity

Oh my benevolent Compsci Gods
my brain feels your algorithm's prods
my anguished body longs for my bed
Now my battery wound up dead

Mr. Hangman, what should I do
When my fingers are slowly turning to stew
The drumming of the keyboard is sure to reveal
That cutting strings is not a skill you can steal

Surely my eyes must deceive me
for what was before me could not possibly be
Upon the HD computer screen
Emerged glorious boxes of green!