Behold the blade, no prompt, no plea,
The silent death of your whole tree.
No asking "Sure?" – it knows its task,
No mask, no mercy, no sudo mask.
It starts with root, the honored king,
Then tears through everything.
Your /bin, your /boot, your /dev/null,
Each file it sees, it makes it null.
The man pages cry, the kernel weeps,
Your logs are gone, no one keeps.
You thought you owned this quiet land–
One mistyped flag, it slipped your hand.
A dash of -f, a bit too bold,
And now your future's black and cold.
No backup left, no cron to save,
Just echoes in a storage grave.
Moral:
It's short, it's fast, it won't forgive–
So type like you intend to live.