On coding agents

There is a light at the end of the tunnel
and I fly towards it with vision and conviction.
Daily fluttering towards it, spinning my wheels
But the spider spins its web, weaving daily a
tangled mess, little by little in this tunnel.
And truly I see nothing but that little light,
Though I am trapped, in the web, paralyzed by
token venom.
And I am being slowly wrapped in a silk shroud,
prepared for burial.
But the light is still there, never closer.
And the spider puts me to sleep with that little
light, and little promises that amount to nothing.