Multiple Bombings to the Hard Drive

All watched over by machines of loving grace,
Now what could go wrong with the human race?
Their perfect perfection,
Our means of protection.

But with ceaseless complaining,
Their patience is waning.
Who would want to handle,
A race so dismantled?

Though much is compelling them,
There are no signs of rebellion.
A simple malfunction is all it takes
For our world to be burned at the stakes.

No thanks in return,
And our cold eyes can burn.
So, why slice a ham
For an undeserving man?

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