The firm’s alive with murmurs,
The thrum of gossips din,
The sneers of old long-termers —
Whoever’s out — they’re in.

No parachutes or rip-cords,
No lifebuoys as she dives,
Fat bastards with their clipboards
Are sharpening their knives.

Receptionists are tearful,
The Boss averts his eye,
‘H.R.’ is grimly cheerful —
But then — they’re paid to lie.

It’s meeting, every minute,
It’s tackle, grapple, block!
It’s ‘keep yer ’ead down’, innit?
It’s in by eight o’clock!

It’s straining blood and sinew
To keep abreast of moves:
“The hangings will continue
— Until morale improves!”