d20

It was a daily ritual, that virtual d20 roll. Sorry Nate.

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He rolled that die once every day,
His purely random way to pray.
And each time, as he let it go,
A short prayer said - it went as so:
"Oh great Slackbot, bless this die.
My cup floweth over, the 20s are nigh.
My future is yours, O' Lord of Luck,
My chakras are blocked, be them unstuck.
How fickle the faith of those you rule,
Take us to church, chance is our school.
Bless us or curse us, our life in your hands,
Our faith's overflowing in all of your plans.
Some call you a bot, but I disagree,
You're a godlike code-based cloud entity.
So let fate rain, like the falling of dice,
Let the faces they show be of your device,
Let the world spin beneath, as it itself tumbles,
Let the prophecy laid be felt through its rumbles.
When the last setting Sun ends our struggle and strife,
When you have granted all we want in this life,
When the results are final and the last day is done,
Just make sure it's me, not Nate, that has won.