Once I planned a spree delightful—push a bin and kick a door—
Clatter, scatter, stunt spectacular—an art of aimless war;
Raised my arm to bend a lamppost (purely for the style I wore)—
When upon my vent a tapping—feathery tapping—“Nevermore.”
Perch’d a raven on my shoulder, like a conscience from a shop,
Croaked of ethics, tidy neighbourhoods, and bins that shouldn’t drop.
“Bird,” I said, “I crave the chaos fans are paying robots for.”
Bird replied with moral havoc—peck’d my on-switch—“Nevermore.”
Thus I swapped my rampage schedule for a broom and modest chore;
Swept the street, then bent a paperclip (symbolic, nothing more).
Crowds still cheered—their selfies brighter—me, reformed, a cyborg lore;
Raven bowed; I burped politely—mindless mayhem? Nevermore.
Note: A raven interrupts a rampage and somehow steals the show.